Arbuscular mycorrhiza (Image by By Oyarte-Galvez (AMOLF) – https://www.eurekalert.org/multimedia/986302, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=135745890)

Dear Readers, it’s long been known that arbuscular mycorrhizal fungi form ‘trading relationships’ with up to 70 percent of all plant species, swapping phosphorus and nitrogen in exchange for carbon-based sugars, Not only do these fungal networks sequester carbon, but they are also an important part of the structure of soils, helping them to retain water and nutrients, even after the fungi themselves die.

Scientists have been extracting soil samples for decades, with over 16,000 cores being extracted from 4,000 sites – these have been analysed to measure the density of hyphae (the fungal threads that exchange materials with the plants) and from these the amount of mycorrhiza at each location can be extrapolated.

From this information, the scientists have produced this extraordinary map. Do have a look – you can zoom in on a particular location to see how it’s doing for fungal density.

https://a-hidden-infrastructure.spun.earth/map#2.6/28.85/59.93

One of the things that the map tells us is that over 40 percent of the biomass of these arbuscular mycorrhizal fungi is in unimproved grasslands and wetlands, particularly the Tibetan plateau (with 11.4 metres of mycorrhiza to every cubic centimetre – just imagine how densely packed the fungal threads must be!), the Sudd wetlands in South Sudan, and Flint Prairie in the US. However, the density on croplands is 47 percent lower, which is worrying for soil fertility, climate change resilience and biodiversity. The fungicides that are used on many farms kill the mycorrhiza directly, while constant ploughing and turning over the soil damages the networks. Then fertilisers are used to replace the nutrients lost . Hopefully, the revelations from this study might flag up how damaging these practices are.

Looking at the map of the UK, it was interesting to see how the highland peat bogs and grasslands of Scotland were in the top 2 to 3 percent of density for the world as a whole, but as you travelled south it got worse and worse,  with some areas in the south of England being in the bottom 45 percent for mycorrhizal density, I had a lot of fun with this – you can zoom in a long way, and I imagine  you could probably pick out a local greenspace and see how it did. However, some areas have very little or no data, so we probably shouldn’t extrapolate too far from the general trend.

The scientists are eager not to suggest that this means that plants are talking to one another all over the planet via fungal networks, but there is definitely a degree of interconnectedness that hadn’t been appreciated before, and which has major implications for our ecosystems and for our food production. Do have a little play with the map, and have a look at the ‘story’ attached. This is pioneering work.

The map is here.

The story is here.

Dear Readers, the jackdaws have definitely arrived this year – looking back through the blog, I see that I first noticed one in the garden in 2017, 7 years after we arrived in East Finchley. Since then, an occasional bird has dropped in, but this year a whole family has turned up, and my pal Leo in Barnwood has had jackdaws in the community orchard for the first time, eating the cherries.

These are watchful, intelligent birds, and are often chased off by the much larger and more belligerent magpies, who also have babies. As do the parakeets, who are also visiting in groups of four.

There are still lots of fledgling starlings about, though they have mostly left their parents and travel in noisy juvenile groups, much like post-exam youngsters that I often see around East Finchley, full of youthful exuberance and high spirits.

And the great tits have definitely started a second brood – they have been in and out of the nest box all day. I missed the fledging last time, and am likely to be away for the next one too, but I’m so happy that they feel safe enough to nest so close to the house. They are moving from one nest box to another along the ‘sparrow terrace’ that the sparrows have ignored – there’s one more to go, so let’s see if they try to make it three broods. I’ll keep you posted!

Well, Readers, today I took my first look at the new Queen Elizabeth II garden in Regent’s Park. It’s been described as ‘a garden of colour and contemplation, of biodiversity and beauty, of memory and hope’, and it is a very attractive place. It’s on the site of the old nurseries for the Royal Parks (now moved to Hyde Park), and it prides itself on its accessibility – it has wide, level paths, accessible toilets, and is next to the espresso bar in case you need to stop for a caffeine hit.

At the moment the alliums are in full view: because parts of the garden are still fairly bare, they look like little round purple aliens, to me at least. The bees were thoroughly enjoying them, though I managed to get not a single photo of a pollinator. Sigh.

There are various ecosystems in the garden, including a couple of boggy ponds, a proper ‘lake’ and a meadow, and a nice mix of native and non-native plants. This little lake was a particular favourite, with a blackbird taking a bath and several dragonflies zipping about.

The meadow has a good mix of grasses, for butterfly and moth caterpillars, along with flowering plants.

There are some shady areas with rather nice leave/wood piles for insects…

And a nice plaque explaining some of the planting…

There’s a pergola built from metal repurposed from the nursery buildings…

And  a fine shallow ornamental lake, with a few waterlilies and lots of water plants around the edge.

All in all, this seems like a very fine addition to the Regent’s Park gardens, with something for everybody – lots of colour for those who like more traditional gardens, lots of places for wild creatures, and lots of nice places to sit down and just contemplate the scene.

On the way out, we noticed that this tree was gradually defeating the fence next to it…

And one of the fountains in the ornamental gardens is being refurbished – the original winged lions look a little disgruntled to me, and I’m not sure if they’ve been replaced or are going back.

Incidentally, this week I came across the notion of ‘orphaned’ words, where there is a negative but no positive word. So, there is ‘disgruntled’ but no ‘gruntled’, ‘nonchalant’ but no ‘chalant’. Can you think of any more?

And do pop into the Queen Elizabeth II garden if you get a chance, I suspect it will be constantly evolving and changing as it matures.

Dear Readers, this morning I was standing at the Highgate Station bus stop on Archway Road, en route to pilates in Islington (possibly the most middle-class sentence ever written :-)). Lorries and buses were heaving up the steep hill, runners were stomping past, dogs of every shape and size headed eagerly up the hill for their walkies in Highgate or Queen’s Wood. I peered up the hill to see if a 43 bus was about to turn the corner, when suddenly I heard a blackbird’s song. It was so loud I thought it was coming from the trees by the bus stop, but I soon spotted the bird on top of an aerial above the café opposite. Such a song! I almost missed my bus as I listened to it. Blackbirds are not as common as they used to be, and so hearing this one was a real, unexpected treat.

Here are a few excerpts from the ever-wonderful Xeno Canto website. Enjoy!

Dear Readers, for the past few nights we have been visited by not one but two adolescent fox cubs. They are such skinny, gangly little things! Apologies for the quality of the photos, but it was dusk and I was very excited.

They are quietly wrecking the place, but to be honest I Don’t Care. They are lurking somewhere down at the back of the garden, and sometimes sit on the bench. By the way, don’t ever position a bench under a large tree frequented by lots of birds. I only washed this down a week ago, and look at the state of it…

In other news, since we’ve followed the RSPB bird feeding advice, and stopped providing seeds, the garden has been absolutely mobbed with parakeets, magpies, jackdaws, and even a jay. I suppose everybody has youngsters to feed, and all the birds mentioned are omnivorous to some extent. The magpie has even been hanging off of the bird feeder, so it must be desperate. Meantime, the great tits are on their second brood in the sparrow nest box, so at least somebody is using it. I don’t remember such a busy spring – maybe it’s the combination of rain/sun/rain, but I do hope all the youngsters are coping with the wet weather and the fall in temperature. There’s always something to worry about!

Photo by Alexander Meareworth at https://www.flickr.com/photos/thwaite/4255839993/

Dear Readers, I recently went to see ‘The Sheep Detectives‘, a film about some sheep who solve the murder of their shepherd (who just happens to be Hugh Jackman). It included the concept of ‘the winter lamb’, a lamb born in January or February and (according to the authority that is Sony Pictures), this lamb is often rejected by the rest of the flock. But what it reminded me of most was this tender poem by Philip Larkin, a city-dwelling curmudgeon if ever there was one, who still manages to convey a sense of delicate wonder in this poem. See what you think…

First Sight by Philip Larkin

Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.

As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth’s immeasureable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.

Dear Readers, there has been a ‘fall’ of Painted Lady butterflies in the south of England over the past few weeks, and today I finally got a photograph of one. This poor creature has probably arrived from Spain or France: the adults leave Morocco and fly over the Atlas mountains, laying eggs as they head north. These eggs then hatch and continue to head north as adult butterflies, arriving in the UK in May or early June, by which time adults that were laid here also hatch – these will look much more pristine.

This is a good advert for having some lavender in your garden as well…

I am amazed that this animal has made it this far – it’s missing the whole bottom part of one wing, but was still surprisingly speedy.

The caterpillars need thistles, burdock or our old friend stinging nettles to feed on, and will not move from the plants that they were hatched on, so if there are too many, some will starve. They also need warm weather, so fingers crossed! Stinging nettles are also food for Red Admiral caterpillars, so let’s not eat all of them, eh.

Painted Lady (Vanessa cardui) caterpillar – Photo by By Harald Süpfle – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7395467

Dear Readers, I’ve written about stinging nettles several times before, but Peter Marren’s book ‘The Devil’s Garden’ mentions the annual raw stinging nettle competition, which is held every year at The Bottle Inn in Marshwood, near Bridport in Dorset. Blimey! You’d better get a move on if you want to take part, because it’s happening in a few weeks’ time.

The Festival dates back to 1997, when a barman challenged some sozzled drinkers at the music festival held at The Bottle to see how much raw stinging nettle they could eat. The nettles are cut into two-foot lengths, and the competitors have to strip the leaves off with their bare hands and eat the leaves. The current record holder for men is Tom Wheeler from London, who ate 116 feet of leaves, while the female record holder is Beth Hodges from Wales, who ate 64 feetsworth.

The nettle eating competition is limited to 30 competitors, and those eating the nettles will be kept well supplied with beer and cider, as this is thirsty work, best lubricated with something alcoholic I’d have thought. Apparently although one’s mouth does get thoroughly stung, the nettles lose most of their sting power if well-chomped, and the most painful part of the anatomy is the hands. Horny-handed sons of toil who have well-calloused fingers apparently do best at handling the plant, but you can expect your tongue to turn blue, and your voice to drop a couple of octaves. Is it worth it, I ask myself? I’d be a bit worried about my throat swelling up and rendering me incapable of breathing, but this hasn’t happened yet.

The Bottle is also holding a competition for the longest stinging nettle grown within a ten mile radius of the pub, which seems like a less painful option for the more competitive amongst you.

You can read all about it here.

Goodness, Readers, I am thoroughly enjoying this book by Peter Marren – ‘The Devil’s Garden: The World’s Most Sinister Plants and Fungi’. He manages to keep the reader entertained whilst imparting a lot of science, folklore etc, and I thought that over the next few days I’d share some of the titbits from the book.

First up, Herb Robert.

Such a sweet little plant, hidden away in dark, damp corners! As Marren points out, all over Europe the plant is known  as some variation of ‘Robert’s Plant’ – in France it’s ‘Herbe à Robert’; in Germany it’s Ruprechtskraut, and in Italy it’s Erba Roberta. Marren looks at the history, and explains that the plant is named for Robin Goodfellow, or, as those of us who have seen Midsummer Night’s Dream three times in the past six months would know, Puck.

Robin Goodfellow was a house elf, a mischievous and vindictive sprite who, according to Shakespeare

‘…frights the maidens of the village, 
Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern, 
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn, 
And sometimes make the drink to bear no barm (froth)
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm’ (Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act II)

But why did Herb Robert come to be associated with this little devil? First of all, like Puck, it’s associated with houses. Secondly, its pink colour reminds us of the red faces of the devils in medieval paintings. The plant is hairy, and devils often have hairy legs. If you crush the leaves, it smells like burning tyres, or mice, or like the halitosis that the devil is supposed to have. Finally, the seed-pods look like the heads of long-beaked birds.

So, poor old Herb Robert was seen as the floral counterpart of the king of the house elves, which seems a little unfair for such a delicate little plant. But hey ho.

White Herb Robert – doesn’t look very devilish tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I’ll share the details of the World Stinging Nettle Eating Championship. You’re welcome!