Stock Dove (Columba oenas)

Dear Readers, on Sunday at 8 a.m. a group of us met for our biannual bird walk in Coldfall Wood. It was a beautiful morning, though a little chillier than I’d expected, and in all we managed to see 21 species. Because the tree canopy isn’t fully developed yet we got good views of a number of birds, including a very noisy group of about ten jays. What’s that about, I wonder? But our leader, Gareth Richards, has a soft spot for stock doves, the ‘forgotten pigeons’ that seem to hide in plain view. I love them too, with their understated iridescent neck patch and ‘gentle’ black eyes (unlike the slightly manic glare of the woodpigeon).

This is what they sound like….this bird was recorded in neighbouring Queen’s Wood by David Darrell-Lambert. Like me, you’ve probably heard them a hundred times without noticing. In the background of this recording you can also hear the more familiar call of a wood pigeon.

Another favourite is the nuthatch (Sitta europea) : Coldfall is absolutely full of them at the moment.

Their call reminds me a bit of morse code:

…while their song is, well, loud…

Gareth explained that a ‘call’ is something that birds use to keep in contact with one another, or to sound the alarm, whereas a song is a territorial signal, telling other birds to keep out. So now I know!

There were also lots of song thrushes, which are apparently recovering, great news for once…

Song Thrush (Turdus philomelos)

And here’s something else I hadn’t noticed: we tend to think of the ‘drumming’ of Great Spotted Woodpeckers as being the equivalent to their song, but they do have a call as well…

Great Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocops major)

Great Spotted Woodpecker call…

But probably the highlight of the morning (and well worth getting up at 6.45 a.m. on a Sunday for) was this little bird – a firecrest, the UK’s smallest bird, and an absolute treat. I didn’t get a photograph, but most of us saw him as he darted around a holly bush. Gareth had been looking for a firecrest in this spot for the last five walks, as it seemed like perfect habitat, and finally he was triumphant.

Firecrest (Regulus ignicapilla) Photo by By Markxmlx – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=142789879

So, this was a really lovely walk: we saw 21 bird species in total, and learned a lot about the habits and nature of the different birds that we saw and heard. What a treat!

Bumblebee on Hebe in January, in the County Roads, East Finchley

A series following the 72 British mini-seasons of Nature’s Calendar by Kiera Chapman, Lulah Ellender, Rowan Jaines and Rebecca Warren. 

Dear Readers, I have always been fascinated by this whole idea that ‘bumblebees shouldn’t be able to fly’, and as they heave their little round bodies around the garden it certainly looks as if there’s something of a wing size/body weight problem going on. The notion apparently first appeared during a conversation in the 1930s between entomologist August Magnan and his assistant, mathematician André Sainte-Laguë. The scientists applied the rules of aerodynamics that were known at the time, and deduced that what a bumblebee was doing was impossible. Sadly this has been used to criticise science ever since. What do these boffins know, anyway? Well, since the advent of slow-motion photography and sticking bumblebees in wind tunnels with tiny transmitters attached to them, it’s been shown that the insects ‘flap’ their wings at up to 230 times a second, which gives them the necessary lift. Biological flight techniques are very different from the ones used in engineering, otherwise presumably we’d be sitting on aeroplanes where the wings flapped.

This has, of course, led me down a human-powered-flapping-flight wormhole, from which I have emerged with the following information. Humans have indeed experimented with flapping-flight-machines – these are known as ‘ornithopters’, and have, let’s say, a somewhat chequered history. The example in the photo below was the result of nearly 30 years of work by Edward Frost, but sadly it didn’t fly.

1902 Ornithopter, Edward Frost (Photo Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=480063)

People continued to experiment with aircraft with ‘flapping flight’, but surely no story is as sad as that of Yves Rousseau. I quote:

In 2005, Yves Rousseau was given the Paul Tissandier Diploma, awarded by the FAI for contributions to the field of aviation. Rousseau attempted his first human-muscle-powered flight with flapping wings in 1995. On 20 April 2006, at his 212th attempt, he succeeded in flying a distance of 64 metres (210 ft), observed by officials of the Aero Club de France. On his 213th flight attempt, a gust of wind led to a wing breaking up, causing the pilot to be gravely injured and rendered paraplegic.

So, what bumblebees do every day is clearly not capable of being duplicated by humans, however hard they work. It’s probably better to just admire them as they go about their business like the superbly-adapted creatures that they are.

So, let’s have a quick look at  my original post, which includes some information on what to do if you find a bumblebee ‘grounded’.

Dear Readers, as I sit in the office gazing out of the window idly and trying to work out where the squirrel that just crossed the road is going, I often startle as a bumblebee flies headlong into the window, before recovering and heading off over the roof. What chunky chappesses they are! At this time of year, most of them are queens, coming out of hibernation and gathering nectar for themselves, and pollen for the larvae hatching out of the first of their eggs.

At this time of year, you might also see a bumblebee who seems to be ‘grounded’. What to do? First up, just watch for a minute unless the bee is in immediate danger of being trampled on or squashed. The one below looked as if she was dead, but when I approached her she stuck out a leg in a ‘don’t mess with me’ gesture. Research by the Bumblebee Conservation Trust has found that the queens spend a lot of their time hanging out in the grass and having a rest, so you only need to intervene if the bee has been hanging  out for more than an hour and a half.

If you absolutely have to move a bee, I would look around to see if there is anything in flower that you can pop her on to – nothing beats natural nectar. If she starts to feed, job done. So many plants are not bee friendly though, especially bedding plants such as petunias and bizzy lizzie and pelargoniums, so if there’s nothing about, make up a 50/50 solution of water to white sugar (not brown sugar, and definitely not honey) and offer that on a spoon or a bottle top. Bumblebee Conservation are very keen that you don’t bring the bumblebee indoors ‘to warm up’ (I must admit that I didn’t appreciate this) – rapid heating is very bad for a bumblebee, which is adapted to living in the tundra, and is more in danger from over-heating than chilling.

By the way, I’m sure that all of us (me included) have done ‘the wrong thing’ when trying to help a bumblebee, so this article is very helpful.

Grounded or just resting?

Another thing that people often get very excited about when they see bumblebees are the little mites that are often clinging to their fur. Sometimes people even get a paintbrush to try to remove them.

Bumblebee with mites (Photo from https://www.bumblebeeconservation.org/bee-faqs/bumblebee-mites/)

But these little guys are actually just hitching a lift – they’re known as phoretic mites, and they hang around on flowers waiting for a bumblebee to bumble past. Once one arrives, they all run on (much like me getting on the 102 bus) and disembark on arrival at the bumblebee nest, where they eat the wax and detritus that accumulates. They also munch up some of the tiny insects that live in the nest, but don’t harm the larvae or the adult bees. Then, when the mites ‘come of age’ they jump back onto another bumblebee to be transported back to a flower, where they wait for another bee to come along.

One of the many things I learned from Kiera Chapman’s piece in Nature’s Calendar was that bumblebee queens don’t lay their eggs in the same place that they hibernated. This actually makes perfect sense. The bees tend to choose north-facing sites that are safe from flooding for their hibernation spot – they don’t want to be woken up by it getting too hot as this will waste their fat reserves, and they need those to get through the winter. Once active, she finds a site such as a mouse barrow on a south-facing slope, builds a ball of wax and pollen and lays her eggs (fertilised during the previous year) into it. She then broods these eggs just like a chicken, using her body heat. It takes about 5 weeks for the larvae that emerge to become adult bees, and at this point they can go out and start foraging for nectar and pollen, so that more worker bees can be nurtured. An average bumblebee nest has only about 500 members, compared to the tens of thousands in a honeybee hive. Towards the end of the season, some of the eggs will turn into males and new queens, so that the cycle can begin all over again.

White-tailed bumblebees on Cirsium atropurpureum

It’s all very well being adapted for tundra, but climate change poses a particular threat to bumblebees – overheating. As winters get warmer, they are emerging from hibernation earlier, and often can’t find any food, as we’ve seen. This is a great reason to get planting early crocuses, mahonia, muscari, fritillaries and other early-flowering plants, and to leave the dandelions alone. What it’s more difficult to manage, though, is the soaring heat of summer. Scientists have predicted that many bee species will move northwards or to higher altitudes, but the importance of decent bumblebee habitat – lots of flowering plants and places to hibernate and nest – can’t be overstated. Bumblebee Conservation has been running its ‘Bee The Change‘ campaign for a while now, with lots of suggestions for ways to help out even if it’s just through a windowbox or encouraging a change in verge management or municipal planting. There’s lots of useful information on the site, so it’s well worth a look!

Bumblebee on Hemp Agrimony

Dear Readers, during lockdown  we walked in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery every weekend for over a year, so I suppose it’s not that surprising that when everything opened again we started to visit sites further afield. But a walk  today reminded me what a special place this is, and how surprisingly biodiverse. You never know what you’re going to see, and today was no exception.

First up, we had a quick visit to the cherry plum trees – these had almost finished blossoming, but there were still a few pale pink flowers nestled amongst the copper-coloured leaves.

In the woodland burial area, there were primroses, and some lady’s smock just coming into flower, along with a splendid new memorial bench.

The cherry laurel is just coming into flower  – I know it’s invasive, but in a garden setting it attracts lots of insects, and has a strong, sweet smell.

And then I heard a familiar mewling cry, and saw a large bird gaining height over the North Circular…

A buzzard! We’re seeing them more and more frequently in North London, and I believe that they breed somewhere in the most densely wooded part of the cemetery. For once this one  wasn’t being hotly pursued by a flock of irate crows, so it could gently ride the thermals, getting higher and higher.

Every so often, the sun would glint on the light-coloured underside of the bird’s wings.

At times it seemed to be peering down at us, as if wondering if we were going to keel over and turn handily into carrion any time soon. Buzzards are extremely adaptable raptors, eating everything from small rodents to roadkill, and will even dig up worms. It was wonderful to see this one so close at hand.

And by the way, the lesser celandines are extraordinary this year – great carpets of shiny, sunshiney yellow.

And the red deadnettle is doing well, as is the germander speedwell.

As I stomped along, I realised I couldn’t remember the name for the little blue flower, except that Veronica was involved – well I wasn’t so wrong, the Latin name is Veronica chamaedrys. How annoying it is when a name slips your mind, as seems to happen more often these days. The thing to do is to not stress, I find, and when I uploaded the photo for the blog the name ‘germander speedwell’ just came back of its own accord. It’s disconcerting, but then lots of things are disconcerting these days. Getting older brings a stream of losses – I realised the other day that the chance of my going to a club and dancing with wild abandon is extremely unlikely, what with my poor old feet. But on the other hand, there are lots of opportunities for new experiences – I’ve been going to see ballet for the first time and next week I’m off to see an opera by Handel, my first ever, in spite of having loved ‘Mr Handel’ for a couple of decades. It’s all about acknowledging  loss and embracing opportunity, I think, and being grateful for having reached my sixties at all – my grandmother died when she was 64, and my grandfather died in a tank in North Africa in WW2 in 1944. On a day like today, it just feels good to be alive.

Dear Readers, it was such a beautiful afternoon on Thursday that I decided to take a walk in St James’s Park, en route to the Linnean Society in Burlington House. This park holds a host of memories for me – Mum used to work at a solicitor’s office off Jermyn Street, so we would sometimes meet up at lunchtime and sit on a bench. Even earlier than this, I remember visiting as a child, and seeing the ‘bird man’, who would stand on the bridge in the park and ‘summon’ literally hundreds of sparrows. And once, I sat and watch a starling murmuration over the island in the middle of the lake. These days, you’re hard-pushed to spot a sparrow, and the starlings have been moved on to goodness knows where. However, the squirrels still run up to you with a hopeful expression, and there are plenty of mallards and coots and moorhens. But where are the famous pelicans?

Gargi the pelican

Well, due to avian flu five of the six pelicans are living in an enclosure on Duck Island in the middle of the lake, but Gargi has decided that she likes being free more than she likes her companions, so she is hanging out with the ducks and coots. What extraordinary creatures pelicans are! They are at the upper limit of size for flying birds – the bigger a bird is, the larger their wings and flight muscles need to be, and the more the bird weighs, which makes taking off difficult. But pelicans can be very acrobatic in flight – I watched brown pelicans off the coast of California diving into the Pacific like arrows, and very impressive it was too.

Gargi has an interesting history. She was found in a garden in Southend in 1996, and appears to have originally been a wild bird who got lost on migration, probably from the south of France. She was brought to the park to recover, and has lived there ever since.

The pelicans are very adaptable creatures, and are clearly opportunists: although in normal times the group of six pelicans is fed every day at 2.30, one of them decided to also take a trip to London Zoo, in time to scoop up the fish that were being fed to the penguins. You’ll often also see the pelicans standing on the benches next to someone who is feeding the geese, which is a rather anxiety-provoking experience – close up, these are very large birds. They also scoop up and eat the occasional pigeon, much to the horror of passersby.

St James’s Park is also home to some truly magnificent London Plane trees…

and has in recent years put in a reed bed, which looked spectacular in the late afternoon sunlight.

So, a really lovely walk that reminded me why I love my city so much – there are few places that have so much green space bang smack in the middle of town, and it was good to see so many people relaxing and enjoying themselves, especially against the backdrop of what sometimes feels like a world gone mad.

Dear Readers, just a quick one today – it’s a beautiful sunny spring day, and I fancy getting out into the garden and just sitting on my bench with a good book. But first up, I have finally gotten around to planting up my window boxes – I’m in a saxifrage/Alpine frame of mind, and hopefully these little guys will be able to survive being blasted with sunshine on the south-facing side of the house.

And in the back garden, the flowering currant is looking particularly splendid at the moment..

The theme for the garden is largely pink, blue and white, though I did see some pot marigolds that were almost irresistible yesterday. Sadly my forget-me-nots have gone, but I shall be scattering some more seed soon. And I still have to plant up my dahlias, which, as you may remember, are largely in shades of orange. So much for a theme! People will have to wear sunglasses.

Much as I do with clothes, I’m a terrible magpie when it comes to plants –  I spot something that I like, and then something else that I like, without giving much consideration to whether the items actually complement one another. Still, it makes life more interesting, and although bees aren’t colour-blind, I’m sure they can pick the blue and pink flowers, leaving the orange and yellow ones to the hoverflies. Variety is the spice of life, after all.

Photo by By مانفی – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=42817936

Dear Readers, I hadn’t come across Chinese-American poet Chen Chen before, but I love his work – it reminds me of another favourite poet, Mark Doty, who also tells stories about relationships, and what it’s like to be gay, amongst so many other things. See what you think. You can read more of his work here.

Poem in Noisy Mouthfuls

By Chen Chen

Can’t stop eating you, movie-style extra butter microwave popcorn.
Can’t stop watching you, rented movie about an immigrant family
from Lebanon. Can’t help but weep, seeing the family wave

goodbye to relatives in the Beirut airport—tear salt mixing with
popcorn salt. Can’t hide my mess, myself from the friend beside me.
Can’t answer his question, Does it remind you of your family, leaving China?

I want to say, No, it’s completely different, which in many ways it is, but really
I’m remembering what a writer friend once said to me, All you write about
is being gay or Chinese—how I can’t get over that, & wonder if it’s true,

if everything I write is in some way an immigrant narrative or another
coming out story. I recall a recent poem, featuring fishmongers in Seattle,
& that makes me happy—clearly that one isn’t about being gay or Chinese.

But then I remember a significant number of Chinese immigrants
live in Seattle & how I found several of the Pike Place fishmongers
attractive when I visited, so I guess that poem’s about being gay

& Chinese, too. So I say to my friend, I’m not sure, & keep eating
the popcorn. Thank god we chose the giant “family size” bag. Can’t stop
the greasy handfuls, noisy mouthfuls. Can’t eat popcorn quietly.

Later, during my friend’s smoke break, still can’t come up with a worthy
response to his radical queer critique of homonormativity, of monogamy,
domesticity, front lawn glory. These middle-class gays picking out

garden gnomes, ignoring all the anti-racist work of decolonization
that still needs to be done—don’t you think they’re lame? I say, Yeah, for sure,
but think, marriage, house, 1 kid, 2 cats—how long have I wanted that?

Could I give that up in the name of being a real queer? Probably can’t.
& it’s like another bad habit I can’t give up. Eating junk, can’t. Procrastinating,
can’t. Picking scabs, can’t. Being friends with people who challenge

my beliefs & life plans, can’t. Reading & believing in Ayn Rand, though?
Can, Brief phase as a Christian because I liked the cross as an accessory? Can.
WWJD? Can. White heterosexist patriarchy? Can. America . . . can’t.

Can’t help but think, when we get back to the movie, how it was my father’s
decision to move here, not my mother’s, just like the parents on screen.
Can’t stop replaying my mother’s walk onto the plane, carrying me,

though I was getting too old for it, holding me, my face pressed into her
hair, her neck, as she cried, quietly—can’t stop returning to this scene of leaving,
can’t stop pausing the scene, thinking I’ve left something out again,

something else my mother told me. Like my grandmother at the airport,
how she saw my small body so tied to my mother’s body, & still she doubted,
she had to say, You better not lose him. & my mother kept that promise

till she couldn’t, she lost me, in the new country, but doesn’t
that happen to all parents & their children, one way or another,
& don’t we need to get lost? Lost, dizzy, stubbly, warm, stumbling,

whoa—that’s what it felt like, 17, kissing a boy for the first time.
Can’t forget it. Can’t forget when my mother found out & said,
This would never have happened if we hadn’t come to this country.

But it would’ve happened, every bit as dizzy, lost, back in China.
It didn’t happen because of America, dirty Americans. It was me,
my need. My father said, You have to change, but I couldn’t, can’t

give you up, boys & heat, scruff & sweet. Can’t get over you. Trying to get
over what my writer friend said, All you write about is being gay or Chinese.
Wish I had thought to say to him, All you write about is being white

or an asshole. Wish I had said, No, I already write about everything—
& everything is salt, noise, struggle, hair,
carrying, kisses, leaving, myth, popcorn,

mothers, bad habits, questions.

Dear Readers, I’m seeing an increasing number of households choosing Photinia as their hedge, and I can see why – at its best, it’s a lovely combination of shiny red leaves, white flowers and, later in the year, some rather delicious bluish berries.  The one above, on  Twyford Avenue here in  East Finchley, is a truly splendid example, but the one below is also very fine, and is on our street. However, my digging about on the interwebs has revealed that the plant is very hungry for magnesium – this can easily be leached out during periods of heavy rainfall or drought. So the author of the blog referenced above suggests that, in addition to a normal fertiliser, it’s worth putting a tablespoonful of Epsom salts into a gallon of water once a year. Symptoms of magnesium deficiency show up as loss of lower leaves (giving the plant a leggy appearance), and also as little purple spots on the leaves. So now we know!

And while trawling through the Open University Library to see if Photinia has cropped up anywhere else, I’ve discovered that an extract from the plant’s leaves shows promise as an environmentally-friendly anti-corrosion paint, which is great news as most anti-corrosion chemicals are toxic. It just goes to show that plants are endlessly fascinating and worth paying attention to!

Now, let’s zip back in time to my original blogpost from 2022.

Photinia x fraseri ‘Red Robin’

Dear Readers, in the spring time it’s so easy to get carried away by the bulbs and the blossom that I fail to notice the new growth on some of the shrubs and trees around me. And so, on a bright but cold day, I was suddenly brought up short by the shiny, perfect crimson growth on this Photinia. The ‘Red Robin’ variant is the one most often seen, but my RHS magazine this week points out a couple of other varieties too.

This one is known as ‘Pink Marble’ or ‘Cassini’ – the bright red leaves are streaked with vivid pink, turning to white as the leaves mature.

Photinia ‘Pink Marble’ from https://emeraldplants.co.uk/product/photinia-pink-marble/

And this one is known as ‘Crunchy’ – the leaves are serrated and emerge copper-brown, turning to chestnut and then green. This is derived from a different Photinia species from the usual Photinia x fraseri cross – Photinia serratifolia is otherwise known as the Chinese or Taiwanese Hawthorn, and has those very spiky, rather striking leaves.

Photinia serratifolia ‘Crunchy’ from https://www.norfolkqualityplants.co.uk/photinia-serratifolia-crunchy-x-3-litre-2989-p.asp

Photinias are members of the rose family, and their name derives from the Greek for ‘shiny’. The wild plant comes from the warm, temperate parts of Asia, from the Himalayas east to Japan, and south to India and Thailand. There are about 60 species of Photinias, all of them shrubs or small trees. In addition to their very attractive spring foliage, a happy Photinia will reward the gardener with a mass of white flowers in the summer, followed by berries which are very popular with thrushes, starlings and waxwings, and which may stay on the plant right through the winter (hence the alternative name ‘Christmas Berry’).

A Photinia in full flower (Public Domain)

The leaves of some species contain cyanide, but this doesn’t stop them being munched upon by the caterpillars of the Common Emerald, Feathered Thorn and Setaceous Hebrew Character moths. This last moth is so named because it was thought that it had the Hebrew Character ‘Nun’ on its wings( נ). I note that some species of Photinia are mentioned as herbal remedies, for everything from worms to piles, but I must confess that I find the cyanide thing a bit disconcerting. I note that at least one website also mentions that the plant is considered to be ‘excessively aphrodisiac’, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Common Emerald (Hemithea aestivaria) (Photo One)

Feathered Thorn (Colotois pennaria) (Photo Two)

Setaceous Hebrew Character (Photo Three)

In his book ‘London’s Street Trees’, Paul Wood mentions that Photinia, though normally seen as shrubs, are becoming more popular as small street trees, and indeed I found some when I was doing my Archway Street Tree Walk back in 2017. I think they make rather pleasant additions to the landscape, and no doubt the birds will be delighted.

Photinia x fraseri ‘Red Robin’

I imagine the autumn colour will be quite something as well.

And now readers, a poem. I thought that finding a poem that specifically mentioned Photinia would be something of a struggle, but I had reckoned without the Society of Classical Poets. They are on a mission to preserve the attributes of metre and rhyme in poetry and while I recognise that poets are a varied lot, and that finding a definition of poetry that works for everyone is almost impossible, I applaud their zest and enthusiasm. I rather like a poem that rhymes and has that satisfying sense of rhythm – such poems seem to stay in the head for longer, and are certainly easier to learn. And so here is my Photinia-related poem by David Watt, a poet from Canberra, Australia. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Hedge Theory by David Watt

The hedge plants are trimmed by a gardener with shears
As they have been, like clockwork, for twenty-five years.
Yet they push out new shoots in continuing hope
Of extending their reach through the fence on the slope;

Protruding through uprights, with glossy new tips,
Their ruby leaves follow, like sensuous lips;
Curved in the middle and quivering so
From the gentlest of breeze, as it moves down the row.

When the gardener arrives, I expect the hedge moans:
“Can’t you see that we’re covering ironwork bones?
Softening edges gives purpose for hedges,
And Nature gives pleasure wherever her edge is.

“Borders are fitting for nations and states,
The banks of a river, or dinnerware plates;
But not for Photinia branches and stems,
Or sweet-smelling flowers in white diadems.

“The feature we share, let us not be mistaken,
Is to never give up though our dreams are forsaken—
When time and again every effort is met
By failure to further our reach past regret.
In fact, we have assets that few would suspect:
An underground network, and time to reflect

“On theory developed from close observation,
A lifetime of fieldwork, and growing frustration;
Which holds that our gardener grows brittle with age,
And little by little, he’s reaching the stage
Where lifting a cutter may shatter a limb—
Soon he will discover the joke is on him!”

Photo Credits

Photo One by By Lamiot – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4352407

Photo Two by By Hectonichus – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17370251

Photo Three By Please report references to olei@despammed.com. – Own work, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1186278

Dear Readers, today I was at the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust site in Barnes, south-west London, with my friend P and her three-month old baby boy. It’s such a joy to have a baby in my life again – the last time was when P herself was a baby, and that’s (ahem) over thirty years ago. The baby settles when his mum is carrying him in a sling and walking, so today we did 14,000 steps – not bad for someone with peripheral neuropathy and a cane. And we saw some splendid wildfowl, like the collection in the photo above – there are fulvous whistling duck (bottom left) and ruddy-headed geese in the middle.

This  little guy is a white-headed duck, and he was displaying by whistling and raising that little spiky tail.

And look! Some white storks. These are being re-introduced in several locations in the UK, including the Knepp estate and, apparently, Enfield, which is becoming something of a London rewilding hotspot, what with beavers arriving too.

This wild heron was being intermittently bombarded by a pair of very irate black-headed gulls, and very entertaining it was too, for us onlookers at least, though the heron was less than impressed.

P spotted these knobbly roots, and I do believe that they’re the ‘breathing roots’ of the Swamp Cypress (one of my favourite trees) – the trees were planted along the edge of one of the ponds, and the roots protrude above the surface of the earth. They are known as ‘knees’, and it used to be thought that they helped with oxygen exchange in wet conditions. Actually, scientists discovered that even if the knees are cut off, there is no decrease in oxygen, so the current theory is that these roots help to stabilise the tree in soggy conditions. Whatever the reason, they are remarkable structures.

Bark of swamp cypress

And then it was time to head home and put my feet up. But as I left East Finchley Station, I noticed that the gnarly old tree next to the coffee stand was absolutely covered in catkins.

I think this is a hornbeam (not surprising as there’s a hornbeam and oak forest on the other side of the road), but I had  never noticed it  before, caged in as it is. It is really glorious this year, and well worth a look if you’re hurrying past en route to the station. Just proves you don’t have to do 14,000 steps to see something impressive!

Brimstone butterfly in flight (Photo By Charles J. Sharp – Own work, from Sharp Photography, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38298003)

A series following the 72 British mini-seasons of Nature’s Calendar by Kiera Chapman, Lulah Ellender, Rowan Jaines and Rebecca Warren. 

Dear Readers, my response to the title of this piece is ‘not around here they ain’t’ – today is cold, windy and grey, with a speckling of raindrops, and I imagine that any self-respecting butterfly is hiding away in a crevice somewhere. But on milder, calmer days you may well spot a Brimstone butterfly scurrying along – Rebecca Warren describes the males as having a ‘wind-tossed sweet-wrapper’ appearance, and I couldn’t put it better myself! The females are not as brightly coloured, and both sexes disappear when they land and close their wings, so closely do they resemble a leaf.

Brimstone at rest (Photo from https://s3.animalia.bio/animals/photos/full/original/2560pxgonepteryx-rhamni-female-04-hs.webp)

Brimstones have very long tongues, which means that they can take advantage of the long corollas of primroses (which most other insects cannot). This is one reason why Brimstones emerge from hibernation so early, and why timing is everything – if there is nothing to feed on, the butterfly will die. Later, the insects will seek out buckthorn or alder buckthorn to lay their eggs on.

Orange tip butterfly at rest (Photo by Sarah Perkins/RES)

Brimstones aren’t the only ‘early flyers’ – Orange Tip butterflies can also be around on mild days in early spring. They don’t hibernate overwinter as an adult butterfly, but appear from their chrysalises, timing their emergence to the flowering of Garlic Mustard and Lady’s Smock. When the females land on a plant they can tell, via sensors on their feet, whether another female has already been there and laid a single tiny egg: if so, the new female will flitter off to find another plant, because sadly the caterpillars of this species are cannibalistic, and will eat the eggs or caterpillars of any subsequent females.

The caterpillars are easy to miss, but are superbly camouflaged to look just like the stems of Garlic Mustard.

Orange-tip (Anthocharis cardamines) caterpillar. Photo (By jean-pierre Hamon (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons)

Garlic Mustard….

On a warm day, all sorts of other butterflies might crop up as well: Peacocks and Red Admirals may emerge from hibernation, and be found sunning themselves on a wall or path. Butterflies have to reach an internal temperature of about 28 degrees Celsius before they can fly – as Rebecca Warren points out, this is why it’s so dangerous for a hibernating butterfly to emerge too early, because they may not be fast enough to escape predators, and there might not be enough nectar to top up their energy stores. More reason to plant some early-flowering nectar sources, lovely gardener friends!

Orange Tip in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery

Peacock sunning itself, April 2021

Large Tortoiseshell (Nymphalis polychloros) Photo By Hectonichus – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=56042810

Dear Readers, there have been sightings all along the south coast during the past few weeks, which has gotten lepidopterists very excited. This butterfly has sometimes been seen in the summer, but those insects were thought to be migrants. The early appearance of these latest creatures is likely to be because they have emerged here, and this indicates that the butterflies must have bred and laid their eggs last year. It’s a tremendous boost, at a time when so many butterflies and moths are struggling.

The original extinction of the Large Tortoiseshell was thought to be tied to the Dutch Elm disease outbreak in the latter half of the 20th century, along with all the usual other factors, such as intensification of agriculture and deforestation. Elm is a major foodplant for Large Tortoiseshell caterpillars, but fortunately they also eat willow and poplar.

An alternative hypothesis for the loss of the species from the UK is linked to the fall in the number of predatory birds due to DDT. The caterpillars feed on the fine branches at the top of trees, which is where small birds such as tits do most of their foraging. The caterpillars have little defence against these birds, so it could be that the loss of the sparrowhawks, for example, upset the balance, and allowed the small birds to proliferate.

There was some concern that the Large Tortoiseshells were actually captive-bred and released, but if so, this has happened across a great swathe of southern England, from Cornwall right through to Kent. It’s quite possible that some have ‘arrived’ in this way, but also that migratory adults have stayed and bred, especially with our milder winters.

But how do you know if you’re looking at a Large Tortoiseshell, as opposed to a small one? Here’s the Large Tortoiseshell again…

Large Tortoiseshell (Nymphalis polychloros) Photo By Hectonichus – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=56042810

…and here’s the Small Tortoiseshell.

Small Tortoiseshell (Aglais utricae) Photo By Jörg Hempel, CC BY-SA 3.0 de, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27756983

The Large Tortoiseshell is (surprise!) larger than the Small Tortoiseshell, but that can be difficult to discern unless you have the two species sitting next to one another. More important is that the Large Tortoiseshell is more predominantly orange than the Small Tortoiseshell, and generally the colours are not as ‘sharp’ in the larger insect. Also, note that the Large Tortoiseshell doesn’t have the bright white spots on the edge of each forewing, or the blue spots on the forewing, that the Small Tortoiseshell does.

If the Large Tortoiseshell is recognised as a resident, it will be the 60th species of butterfly for the UK, and the first new species added to the list since Butterfly Conservation started as an organisation in 1968. So, let’s keep our eyes peeled, and see what we can spot!