Correct sneezing poster by Meduza

Dear Readers, I suppose it was inevitable but after a six-hour plane flight with a lot of people sneezing and coughing their heads off, I have gone down with a bug and not a nice one either. Last night I was under the covers with my teeth chattering, but today I feel a smidge better, and the whole experience has got my wondering about what exactly a ‘lurgy’ is?

The Oxford English Dictionary defines a ‘dreaded lurgy’ as ‘an unspecified or indeterminate disease’, but its etymology is rather interesting. When we were growing up, a fixture on the radio was always The Goon Show, starring Spike Milligan, Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe and Eric Sykes. Dad, my brother and I always loved it, while Mum sat in the armchair shaking her head and wondering why we had tears of laughter rolling down our faces. Anyhow, one episode (from 1954) was called ‘Lurgi Strikes Britain’, and it Ned Seagoon has to deal with a highly dangerous, highly infectious and, as it turns out, completely fictitious disease called ‘The Dreaded Lurgi’.

Nowadays, people often use the word ‘lurgy/lurgi/lurgey’ to explain why they can’t come to a social occasion, or go to school. It’s its indeterminate nature that makes it so useful – it’s a disease that’s worse than a cold, not as bad as flu, and isn’t clearly anything else that you can put a name to. I wonder if my North American readers have ever heard of/used the term, or if it’s a purely British thing?

In Canada, a related term seems to be ‘cootie’ – this comes originally from the Malaysian word for ‘louse’, but in Canada it specifically means some kind of germ or contaminant, real or imagined, especially from a member of the opposite sex (and so often used by children at their most squeamish stage). An example of usage from Wikipedia is ‘I’m not using this glass until I’ve washed the cooties off’. Along with ‘chesterfield’ for sofa and ‘toque’ for hat, this feels like a pure Canadianism that I haven’t come across anywhere else.

So now we know! And I’m going back to bed. See you tomorrow!

World Clocks at Parque de Pasatempo, Galicia, Spain (Photo By Óscar (xindilo/fotosderianxo) – This file was derived from: Reloxos no Parque do Pasatempo, Betanzos.jpg, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=42176234)

Dear Readers, jet lag is a truly miserable phenomenon, as I am finding to my cost this week. On my way to Canada I adjusted within 24 hours – we travelled out early, dragged ourselves through the whole day and were so exhausted by the time we got to bed that we slept right through. On the way east, though, it’s a different story – again we dragged ourselves through the day following an overnight flight, but when I got to bed I was instantly awake, and stayed that way until about 4 a.m. At 4.30 a.m. the cat started to sing the song of her people, and so that was that.

That  was on Sunday. Every morning I’ve made sure to get up early and mingle with people (the light and being around other folk is supposed to reset your body clock), and on Wednesday I coupled that with falling flat on my face, having tripped over a speck of dust/molecule/something invisible. You might remember that I have a habit of doing this but I’m pretty sure that jet lag was implicated in the stumble. No harm done! And my trusty twenty year-old Canon Powershot survived the fall, which was something of a miracle.

The friend that I was with is a first-aider at her workplace, and as I staggered into the café she asked if the staff would break out their first aid box. Antiseptic wipes, plasters and antiseptic cream were soon applied (thank you Coal House Café) and I can recommend the coffee and the chocolate and mandarin gluten-free cake, just what you need to get over a shock. Plus, having watched every season of Masterchef the Professionals it was a delight to have a knee covered in bright blue catering sticking plasters.

So, what the hell is jet lag? At root, it’s chronobiological (and what a great word that is)  – we have a body clock in our brain, called the suprachiasmatic nucleus (SCN), which is closely linked to light reception, and little ‘clocks’ in our cells, which record the amount  of time since we last slept. Unfortunately, these two systems don’t always work at the same rate – we can use light to reset our SCN (and indeed elite athletes often use light therapy to help them reset their body clocks), but the receptors in other parts of our body take different rates to catch up.

People swear by melatonin (not available for use in the UK), the aforementioned light therapy, keeping to the sleep-wake schedule of the country that you came from (not practical in most cases), and various drugs, some of them illegal. This may cure the jet lag, but I wonder if any of you also have a strange sense of dissociation, when you arrive home after a trip, a feeling that ‘home’ is not quite the same as it was? I nearly always have this, and it takes a few days for things to feel ‘right’ again. I wonder if humans were meant to travel as far and as fast as we do these days – after all, jet lag is a modern phenomenon. Time was it would have taken weeks on a ship and then overland to travel from London to Toronto, and now we can do it, door to door, in about twelve hours. No wonder our poor minds and bodies are confused! Some cultures have a sense that the body travels so fast that it takes the soul a while to catch up.

There’s an interesting article about just this phenomenon by one of my favourite travel writers, Nick Hunt. He describes walking to Istanbul from London back in 2011, and then returning by plane, and how disorientated it made him feel. Here’s his description of what jet lag really is:

‘At three miles an hour, the world is a continuum. One thing merges into the next: hills into mountains, rivers into valleys, suburbs into city centers; cultures are not separate things but points along a spectrum. Traits and languages evolve, shading into one another and metamorphosing with every mile. Even borders are seldom borders, least of all ecologically. There are no beginnings or endings, only continuity.

If driving breaks that continuity, flying explodes it. It shatters reality into bits that have to be pieced back together. We label this “jet lag” — a disruption of the circadian rhythm caused by different time zones — but what really lags behind is much more fundamental.'(Nick Hunt, ‘Travelling at the Speed of the Soul’)

I think there is also something about integrating and processing what has happened while you’ve been away. For me, this journey was both a delightful experience (The eclipse! Renewing friendships! Seeing beavers!) and a melancholy time, a reacquaintance with the demon of dementia and the heaviness and sadness that it brings. So I came home carrying a lot, good and bad, and maybe it’s no surprise that I fell. But today things seem to be settling a little more, and home feels more like home, and the cat only sings from about 6 a.m. as opposed to every hour, on the hour. And so, things are inching back to normal.

But not for long, because soon I’ll be off again. More on that soon!

Wood sorrel (Oxalis acetosella) Photo from https://tyt.lt/picture/32606/category/1241-oxalis-acetosella-paprastasis-kiskiakopustis

Dear Readers, wood sorrel is a small, delicate plant that grows in ancient woodlands and flowers at around Easter time, in April or May, hence its vernacular name ‘Alleluia’. In ‘Flora Britannica‘, Richard Mabey notes the endless moral associations linked to the plant by the Victorians. Here is a passage on the plant from the 1860 diary of Charlotte Clifford, copied from a book called ‘The Garland of the Year’

‘A more beautiful floral emblem of praise could not be selected than this exquisitely sensitive little plant. Coming forth at the first summons of spring it continues to adorn the woods with its bright triple leaves, until the fading foliage of autumn consigns it to a living grave. Even then, the flower-searcher may discover here and there a delicately-folded leaf looking out from the desolation and death by which it is surrounded. For the alleluya, fragile though it be, can brave the roughest storms, bowing its meek head below the clouds, and looking up with joy, to greet the sunshine. Sweet and precious are the lessons that this little woodland plant may teach us – lessons of humble faith, and constant loving praise. Teaching us that, as the shrinking wood sorrel finds protection in its triple leaves, so our souls, strengthened by the three-fold gifts of the Holy Ghost, should bow in meek submission to the trials of their mortal existence. Ever praising, never repining, bearing all sorrows; thankful for all joys!’

Well, that might seem quite a weight of parable for a small woodland flower to bear, but there is much close observation here – the flowers do close at night and in gloomy weather, for example. In the photo below, they seem to be just about to open in the morning sun.

The three-lobed leaves have led to it being occasionally mistaken for shamrock (though it’s generally accepted now that shamrock is actually a kind of clover) and the flowers fold up during the night and open up again during the day. I was delighted to spot some recently, though it’s not in flower just yet. Wood sorrel is often found in the shadiest, dampest spots in woodland or below hedgerows, and often grows directly on leaf-mould or even fallen logs.

Another vernacular name for wood sorrel is ‘Granny’s sour grass’, and the leaves have a lemony, acidic taste, much like that completely unrelated sorrel, Rumex acetosa (not surprising as both contain oxalic acid, and the word ‘sorrel’ comes from the French word for ‘sour’). The leaves of wood sorrel can be used in salads, but, again in Flora Britannica, one forager pops the leaves into a cream cheese sandwich, which would work rather well I think.

Wood sorrel (Photo https://www.flickr.com/photos/joerghempel/)

I recently acquired a copy of Culpeper’s Herbal (not an original because that would be worth a small fortune) and here’s what he has to say about the medicinal virtues of wood sorrel:

‘Venus owns it. Wood Sorrel serves to all the purposes that the other Sorrels do, and is more effectual in hindering the putrefaction of blood, and ulcers in the mouth and body; and in cooling and tempering heats and inflammations, to quench thirst, to strengthen a weak stomach, to procure an appetite, to stay vomiting and very excellent in any contagious sickness or pestilential fevers’. 

I can well see how the lemony flavour would help with digestive problems of all kinds, and several foragers mention how wood sorrel leaves can help to quench the thirst when walking on a hot day.

The reference to Venus is also interesting. The cuckoo was believed in folklore to be the messenger of the goddess of love, and one legend has it that the cuckoo had to eat wood sorrel in order to get its voice, hence yet more vernacular names for the plant – cuckoo bread and cuckoo’s meat.

Incidentally, the dried leaves of wood sorrel are said to enable you to see fairies, but knowing their mischievous reputation I think we should probably leave the wee folk to their own devices.

Photo by Nina Laakso from https://www.flickr.com/photos/talaakso/8829041158

My Field Guide to Caterpillars gives only one creature that eats wood sorrel, and that’s the twin-spot carpet moth (Mesotype didymata). As this is a most unpernickety larva, which eats many other woodland plants, I wonder if the oxalic acid puts off all but the hungriest caterpillar?

Twin-spot carpet (Mesotype didymata) Photo by Janet Graham at https://www.flickr.com/photos/149164524@N06/50194787602)

And finally, a poem. I rather relate to this one, by Scottish poet Anne Ryland- I am a great fan of ‘Being nobody, at home with all the lamps on and quite shapeless within beloved habits.’ And I love the last stanza. See what you think.

Miniature Delights

By Anne Ryland

You in your new cranberry sweater, glasses askew
reading about James Bond then Elgar.

Being nobody, at home with all the lamps on
and quite shapeless within beloved habits.

The unknown bird at dawn who laughs
an ascending scale of notes in our garden.

Opening a card of bluebells and wood sorrel
to find a letter written in neat fountain pen script.

A conversation lasting six and a half hours,
completing it without being put off or told off.

The vacancy for a part-time shepherd –
wondering how it would blend with poetry.

A slow breakfast at the foot of a castle while ruins
tell their stories and cows promenade the cliff.

A stroll along the pier in my pale blue duffel coat,
greeted only by the seal who wants to flirt.

Smoke spiralling from chimneys, the long breath
of a house, or its thoughts purified by fire.

Listening to Ave Maria, imagining Schubert asleep
in his glasses in case a new song woke him by surprise.

Dear Readers, I have visited Bluebell Wood in Bounds Green before, but never, I think, in the spring. And it’s been a hard one for this little patch of ancient woodland – the incessant rain of the early part of the year reduced whole areas to a mud bath. Today, though, things have dried up, and so I took a wander with my friend S to see what was going on.

First up, the understorey is looking very good – fences have been put up in some of the areas that have been most heavily trampled during the pandemic to allow the forest floor to recover, and it’s doing just that.

There is herb robert and forget-me-not…

But there are also ancient woodland indicators such as wood anemone, which have been lost from so many ancient woods.

There are a few tiny patches of sweet woodruff too.

Sweet woodruff

And there are bluebells everywhere – the vast majority appear to be hybrids, but there are some that look closer to English bluebells.

Definitely hybrids

Slightly less hybrid-y!

Even less hybrid-y

The cow parsley is in flower, and there were lots of ants on the flowers. I am guessing that somewhere on this plant there are some aphids, and that later in the year it will become apparent that the ants are farming them. Either that or the ants have suddenly developed a taste for nectar or pollen, which I think fairly unlikely. Let me know  if you’ve noticed cow parsley with ants on the flowers, it’s a first for me. 

There are a lot of young trees in Bluebell Wood, including both Midland and Common Hawthorn. It’s a bit difficult to see in the photos below, but Common Hawthorn has just one stigma (the pointy bit in the middle of the flower), whereas Midland Hawthorn has two or three, and the leaves of Common Hawthorn are more deeply incised than those of Midland Hawthorn. Midland Hawthorn is a plant of ancient woodlands, and its numbers have diminished along with its favoured habitat.

Common Hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna)

Midland Hawthorn (Crataegus laevigata)

There is Bird Cherry in the wood too. It always reminds me of a little white firework display.

Bird Cherry (Prunus padus)

And there are a few patches of wild garlic (ramsons). Not enough to be picked though, so hands off!

And the holly is in flower. It’s interesting to me how smooth the leaves are on the holly in the first photo. The story usually told (including by me) is that the spikes, which are energetically expensive for the plant to produce, appear on leaves that are likely to be browsed by large mammals, whereas the leaves at the top, which are harder for deer or ponies to reach, can be smooth. However, some recent studies suggest that the reason that spiky leaves are produced is damage of any kind, not just browsing. So, a holly bush that is regularly pruned will produce more spikes that one that’s left to its own devices. I’m thinking that there is probably a genetic factor here too, with some garden varieties being inherently spikier than others. Anyhow, you can read a very interesting explanation of the phenomenon here, and the article also mentions that the amount of spikiness on a plant is known as ‘spinescence’, a new word for me but definitely one to add to the dictionary.

And finally, here’s a grass. Grass doesn’t get half as much attention as it merits in my opinion, being such a vital part of so many habitats. We might not think of grasses as playing much of a part in the understorey of woodlands, but this is Wood Melick (Melica uniflora), and very green and delicate it looks too.

Wood Melick is the foodplant of the Slender Brindle moth (Apamea scolopacina), The caterpillar starts its life in the stem of the grass, before emerging at night to eat the leaves and spending the day hiding on the ground. It eventually pupates on the ground, and emerges in late summer. What a stunning moth it is!

Slender Brindle moth (Photo by Ben Sale at https://www.flickr.com/photos/33398884@N03/48275585567)

So, Bluebell Wood is a tiny slice of ancient woodland, but it certainly punches above its weight. As we walked, we could hear great tits, blue tits, robins, blackbirds, wrens and black caps singing, and green woodpeckers and ring-necked parakeets yaffling and squawking away. The fenced areas are allowing biodiversity to return, without impinging on the pleasure of walking in the wood. I look forward to seeing what other plants and animals will turn up as the wood recovers.

Dear Readers, I couldn’t help but notice that spring in Toronto is just about starting, whereas here in East Finchley some plants have already gone over. It looks as if I’ve missed the best of the cherry blossom, at least if the pink confetti in the gutters is anything to go by…

But there’s still lots in flower, and  coming into leaf. Barnet Council have planted a hibiscus on one of the County Roads, and it looked very sad earlier this year, but look! It looks very healthy now, so fingers crossed for the next few years, as it grows and matures. There are some very healthy specimens in Golders Green and Temple Fortune, so I’m looking forward to seeing this one in flower in due course.

According to the Tree Map of London, the tree below is an apple. I’m so confused with Prunus species that I couldn’t say, but I will note that I’ve never seen any apples on it. Very pretty, whatever it is.

And these might not be English bluebells, but they’re very also very attractive. I love what people manage to grow in the tiniest and most unpromising of spaces, such as on the top of a wall or gatepost.

Along the side of All Saints’ Church there are thickets of garlic mustard (great for the orange tip and brimstone butterflies).

And along the fence, there is an abundance of three-cornered garlic. I sense a general garlic theme going on – I could see either of these plants being used for a garlic-bread equivalent, or as a stuffing for a nice big portobello mushroom, though I’d want to be fairly sure that the local dogs hadn’t peed all over the plants first.

On we go along Twyford Avenue. Last year I spotted these interesting wisteria, which were growing more as shrubs than climbers – they’ll be in full flower soon, I must go back and take a photo to see how they look this year.

The Twyford Avenue wisteria bushes last year.

One of the gardens has been re-landscaped, and I rather like it – it’s a bit tidier than mine, but there are still some pollinator-friendly plants on this open, sunny site.

And the lilac is in bloom everywhere.

Now, what is it with this brutal tree-chopping that I’m seeing at the moment? Look at this poor tree, or what’s left of it. I’m guessing there’s a reason for just decapitating the tree, rather than taking it out completely (cost?) but it looks awful. And it’s not the only one either.

The plane trees are gently leafing up on Grand Avenue in Muswell Hill…

And this Cotinus (smoke bush) was positively glowing in the sunshine.

But my heart is always with the weeds, and how I love this yellow corydalis sitting on top of a wall and soaking up the sun. It doesn’t matter how much weed killer is sprayed about, this little plant always seems to come back.

After a coffee at Sable D’Or (highly recommended if you’re in the vicinity of Muswell Hill) we walk back down Queen’s Avenue, and I am much taken by this tree peony. I think it might be a Ludlow’s tree peony, and it’s the first one I’ve seen around here. The species comes originally from Tibet, where the plant is known as ‘God’s flower’. What a splendid plant to stumble across in North London.

And here is a very dark blue California lilac (Ceanothus), much loved by bees, and yet another plant on my front garden list (if only I can find some room).

As we head back onto Fortis Green Road, there’s a lovely Clematis (Montana I think) – I’d never noticed how sweet this plant smells. This one was absolutely smothered in flowers.

Clematis montana (?)

But finally, here is a relatively rare species – a Trojan Electric Vehicle charger! The council has been cheerfully putting these in all around East Finchley, but this is the first one I’ve seen actually plugged in. Let’s hope they soon become as common as three-cornered garlic or garlic mustard.

A blond squirrel

Ah Toronto, second home, vertical city, squirrel-spattered, sparrow-flattered city of cold grey steel and warm-hearted people. It’s been a heavy-hearted visit as we watch someone who was always so curious, so full of interest in other people, reduced to a ten-minute cycle of repetitive questions.

3.19 p.m. (totality) in Mount Pleasant Cemetery

The city gave us days of brilliant sunshine, until the eclipse (of course) when the clouds rolled in and all those eclipse-glasses turned out to have been unnecessary. Except for that brief ten minute window before ‘totality’ when you could see the moon taking a bite out of the sun in a gap between the clouds. Not long enough to get a photo, of course, but some things are better experienced than captured.

And the birds, so anxious and confused.

And the woods and the wetlands, and the view of geese flying home as the sky reddened.

And the beavers, of course.

At the end of two weeks I’m always both sad to be leaving and happy to go home. There always seems to be so much more to explore, and yet a feeling that I’ve had enough. What a strange thing, and how fleeting, how quickly two weeks goes.

As I look out of the window of this cafe (upstairs in Indigo if you should be looking for a spot to chill) you can see the old Town Hall, and three Canadian flags fluttering with their big red maple leaves. One shows the flag of Ontario which still has a Union Jack in one corner, and a trio of golden maple leaves in the other. It’s won my heart over the twenty-four years that I’ve been visiting, and I will miss it, and the people who were John’s friends but who have made me so very welcome. But I know the months will fly, and I’ll be back before I know it, eating pancakes the size of a side-plate in the Sunset Grill and hanging out at the Queen Mother Café. And until then, there will be an exam to do for my Open University course, and a trip to the Azores to watch whales to experience, and no doubt the garden will be a jungle.

Bye for now, Toronto, and thank you for everything.

The sun beginning to fade over Toronto

The Ontario Legislative Building

Dear Readers, on Thursday it was a real pleasure to catch up with Lizbet, one of my Canadian readers, and to take some time exploring her Toronto. We met by the Legislature (also apparently known as ‘the pink palace’ because of its pink bricks, made by inmates of the Central Prison. The style is known as ‘Richardsonian Romanesque’, and it’s a very solid, imposing building. As is usually the case, someone was being interviewed on the long path to the main door, hence the sideways angle. The gardens were full of red-winged blackbirds who seemed to be getting very excited with one another. 

Opposite is the Whitney Block, built in 1926. This one is in a Modern Gothic/Art Deco style, and to my eyes it has more than a touch of Gotham City about it. Interestingly, it apparently currently stands empty – let’s hope no one gets permission to stick a condo tower in here.

The Whitney Block also has two interesting memorial statues. One is to police from Ontario who’ve been killed in the line of duty.

The other is to Ontario correctional officers. The styles could not be more different.

And look at this lovely musical instrument shop. The Sound Post has been in Toronto since 1990, restoring and repairing stringed instruments and selling them too, as well as hosting events. The building is a reminder of what this part of Toronto used to look like.

This is what I think of as the hospital quarter. Here is the old Victoria Hospital for Sick Children

And here is part of the new building, also soon to be replaced with a shiny new building.

I like the statue outside…

and also the way that people are allowed to add their own remembrances to the edge of the statue.

Plus this reminder, increasingly common in Canada, that the people who settled the country used land which was already home to other people, and in many cases displaced them.

The Banting Institute was where my friend used to work as a laboratory technician, looking at markers in the blood of pregnant women. It’s soon to be demolished/repurposed so we had a sneak around to see what was going on. There’s some new planting at the back and sides of the shiny new building adjacent to it, but the old building is in a sorry state. It’s currently home to over 50 start-ups who will be offered space in the new building when it’s ready, but at an increased rent.

And then we wander around to the Art Gallery of Ontario, where the workers have been on strike since 26th March. Judging by the number of placards and the amount of supportive hooting going on from passing cars, this action has a lot of public support. There are issues around contracting-out, precarious working conditions and the way that salaries haven’t kept up with inflation. Let’s hope it can be sorted out to everyone’s satisfaction soon.

And finally, we pass the Chinese Baptist Church. My friend was telling me a little of the history of Chinese people in Canada, in particular the workers brought in to complete the Canadian-Pacific Railway – 15,000 Chinese workers completed the section in British Columbia, but over 600 died. Once the railway was built, Chinese immigrants were forced to pay a ‘head tax’, which meant that most Chinese men couldn’t afford to bring their wives and children to Canada to join them. In 1923 legislation prevented the immigration of people from China altogether, and this wasn’t repealed until 1947. Today, Canada has a vibrant Chinese -Canadian community, active in all areas of life and Toronto’s mayor, Olivia Chow, is the first Chinese-Canadian person to hold the post.

It’s always interesting to see a city through new eyes, and also to see how rapidly Toronto had changed, and is changing, in one person’s lifetime. It helps to put the city into context, and to appreciate what it means to the people who live here. I’m looking forward to more such exploration on my next visit.

Siberian squill (Scilla siberica)

Dear Readers, as promised I wanted to have a little chat about the invasive species of Toronto (and Canada generally), as it’s something of an object lesson in how a plant that might be perfectly controllable in its own habitat becomes something much worse when it travels abroad. First up is this lovely blue flower, Siberian squill, which has taken to places like the Toronto Ravine system with gusto. Trouble is that it shades out other earlier flowering plants, such as the trillium and the Canadian windflower which make up the understorey in places like the trails around the Royal Botanical Gardens at Burlington.

Trillium and windflowers

I spotted one or two patches of trout lilies, but these too would be overpowered by the squill.

Trout lilies (Erythonium americanum)

In fact, even the innocent-looking lesser celandine are not native, and in Burlington are actually being sprayed so that they don’t overpower the other plants (they’d tried weeding them out, but these plants spread by tiny bulbules so it’s almost impossible). If we aren’t careful what we’ll end up with is completely generic habitat zones, with few differences between the woodlands of North America and those of Western Europe.

Lesser celandine in Burlington

The Ravines also have our old friend Japanese Knotweed, and something that we don’t have (yet) – dog-strangling vine (Vincetoxicum rossicum). This last seems to be particularly pernicious, with no way of preventing its spread. It seems to impact on milkweed, which is one of the main foodplants of the migratory Monarch butterfly. I’m surprised that I didn’t notice it in the Ravine, but there were some tangled masses of stems that I now think might have been the plant.

Dog-strangling vine – Photo By Epibase – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7567542

Another major problem, both in the ravines and in Tommy Thompson Park, is the Phragmites reed. Often grown for bioremediation (it’s good at filtering out toxic chemicals in run-off along streams) it can quickly take over and destroy riverside habitats.

Phragmites reeds alongside the Moore Park Ravine

Purple loosestrife, such a useful and pretty plant in its native Europe, is also a major problem in North American bogs and seeps.

Purple loosestrife and hemp agrimony in my garden at home

And then there’s garlic mustard. In the UK it’s the foodplant of brimstone and orange-tip butterflies, but in North America it’s not so popular with invertebrates, and therefore also not so popular with naturalists.

Garlic Mustard (Alliaria petiolaria)

So, it’s clear that it’s not only the UK that has a problem with plants arriving from other countries and then jumping over the garden wall and wreaking havoc with the native flora and fauna. And we certainly shouldn’t be feeling complacent. Since Brexit, although Europe has been inspecting plants brought to the continent from the UK for pests, we have not been inspecting plants from Europe in return. At the end of April, we’ll start inspecting any floral imports, and in response garden centres have been bulk-buying trees, shrubs and perennials because they fear that the inspection process will take too long for many plants to survive in good condition. With climate change it’s very likely that plants and animals that wouldn’t otherwise have survived will survive our winters (such as the Asian Hornet, which it’s feared is now established in parts of Kent), but many creatures, plants and fungi are imported with our pot plants (ash dieback is thought to have arrived with some imported ash trees) and sometimes our food. Let’s hope that we can improve our biosecurity, as so many problems are much easier to deal with if they’re picked up early and nipped in the bud. And let’s hope that the urban forests and wetlands of Toronto can thrive, with the help of all the local people who obviously love them.

Monarch butterfly on goldenrod

The Beaches Boardwalk

Dear Readers, it was the last sunny day of our holiday today, at least according to the weather forecast, so we headed down to The Beaches for our annual trot along the boardwalk. We always get the 501 streetcar to Woodbine Avenue and then walk down, to stroll beside the glittering lake and admire the many, many dogs taking their owners for a walk. But on the way down, we spotted this.

The old clapperboard houses are going to be torn down and replaced by a somewhat generic apartment complex. I suppose we should be glad that it’s only six storeys. Not everyone is happy though, clearly.

The old houses have balconies and stoops and all kinds of rather lovely details, but by the look of it they would have needed a lot of repair work. And people do need places to live.

This is what the new development would look like.

Image fromhttps://urbantoronto.ca/news/2022/07/four-storey-residential-building-proposed-beach.48615

And to digress (regular readers will not be surprised at me going off at a tangent), we always stay in the Cambridge Suites Hotel when we come to Toronto. It’s not the plushest place in town, but the rooms are divided into a sitting area, work/dining area, bedroom and bathroom, and it’s in a great position for transport north to see my mother-in-law. However, plans have gone in to tear it down and replace the current 21 storey building with 71 storeys.

Image from https://urbantoronto.ca/database/projects/cambridge-suites-redevelopment.49713

At the moment the plan has been knocked back (thank you Toronto urban planners) so maybe we’ll get a few more years here. Some of the staff have been here since we first started coming in about 2004, and as there is no hotel space planned in the new building they would all lose their jobs. Some condominium developers around here have gone bust, so hopefully that will slow things up as well. It’s not as if local people can afford to live in these flats, the prices are astromical.

Anyhow! Back to The Beaches. I want to check out that the sparrows are still nesting in the light fixtures of the Olympic Swimming Pool (a brutalist concrete construction) and indeed they are. There are lots of sparrows in Toronto, most of them nesting in the eaves of elderly buildings. Where will they go when everything is shiny steel and glass?

We stop to admire the lifeguard’s hut…

And a container ship way way in the distance..

And then closer to home there’s this rather fine street art – some Gouldian finches if I’m not mistaken…

But the Canadian birds are not to be outdone, with a fine red cardinal singing his head off in a bush.

So, I like The Beaches – they feel like a seaside town even though they aren’t, and there’s a proper high street with independent restaurants and shops. Well worth jumping on the 501 street car and heading east if you’re in town.