‘Sheltering’ by Timothy Schmalz

Dear Readers, like many cities has a range of public art, ranging from the beautiful to the bizarre and everything inbetween. The statue above, by Canadian sculptor Timothy Schmalz, is very new, and I found it very moving: its location, in the garden of the United Metropolitan Church, is a gathering place for homeless people, close to several hostels and also to the local hospital.

And then of course there are the Canada geese of the Eaton Centre, looking very spick and span at the moment. And where the hell did the phrase ‘spick and span’ come from? Apparently it’s a ship building term, where a ‘spick’ was a metal nail, and a ‘span’ was a wood chip – ‘spick and span new’ was the original term, meaning a brand new ship with everything in order.

Anyway, after that digression, here are some geese….we saw two actual wild Canadian geese flying over Queen Street earlier this morning, so I can vouch for the accuracy of the depiction.

I’ve written a piece about the history of the Eaton Centre Geese before here

Turning round, there’s a rather fine bridge connecting the Eaton Centre to the now-defunct Hudson’s Bay building…

And then there’s a brisk walk through the old building, with some remnants of its past as a department store…

…but mostly you’re channelled through corridors lined with murals by Chairman Ting, a Vancouver-based design consultancy.  Apparently they cover 27,000 square feet. Chairman Ting also designed the FIFA World Cup poster for 2026, so they’re clearly having a good year.

The latest news is that some of the old Hudson’s Bay building might be converted to self-storage. Well, better than tearing it down I suppose.

Now, I’d passed something on my way into Toronto on Saturday that I really wanted to check out, and here it is…

Yes, it’s a giant child’s head. The sculpture is called ‘Dreaming’ and it’s by Jaume Plensa, a Catalan sculptor. Apparently the 8.5 metre tall, 2.5 tonne sculpture has been here since 2020, so how I’ve missed it previously I have no idea. It’s one of those sculptures that looks fine from the front, but starts to look very strange as you walk around it….

Hmmm. It’s supposed to be meditative, but it feels a little creepy to me. What do you think?

Practically next door to ‘Dreaming’ is this amazing building, which deserves a blog post all to itself. So, more on the Concourse Building tomorrow….

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’ve written about gorse before here – I love its coconutty smell, and its cheerful yellow flowers. In ‘Nature’s Calendar’, Rowan Jaines describes the importance of the plant at the festival of Beltane, particularly in Gaelic and Celtic histories. Samhain, now celebrated as Halloween on 31st October, was one end of the season – whilst now it’s largely all about trick  or treating and pumpkin carving, it was (and in some traditions still is) thought to be the time when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead was thinnest, a time when supernatural beings could cross the boundary between our world and theirs. However, Beltane, celebrated at the beginning of the season on May Day, had similar traditions.

Celtic scholar John Rhys describes how, at daybreak, the gorse bushes would be set alight to encourage the witches, who took the form of hares, to move on. But the yellow flowers of gorse were also thought to be protective, and to be associated with the Celtic sun god Lugh: the cattle, adorned with the yellow flowers of gorse, would be driven between sacred gorse bushes which had been set alight, in order to offer the herd protection during the summer months.

As often happens, the burning of the gorse also had a practical purpose. In ‘The Battle of the Trees’, the Welsh poet Taliesin described how the gorse ‘is badly behaved until subdued by the fires of Beltane’, which allowed new, succulent growth to emerge.

And here is a poem. The poet, 83 year-old Marcia Cardelús, has been writing for most of her life, but has only just started to submit poems to journals. I rather like this one, and goodness knows we need it…

Gorse by Marcia Cardelús
April 18, 2024 ~ ONE ART

The Northeast corner of
of our local organic food store
Wild by Nature
has that smell.
You know the one.
The one you don’t exactly like
but are attracted to
a kind of witchy brew
of dried herbs,
essential oils, vitamins and incense.

It was there I saw the
“Discover Your Remedy” display,
built of wood, promoting nature.
It was divided into seven sections,
and each of the sections
was divided into subsections
that housed sets of small brown bottles
of labeled remedy.

Only one sub-section was sold out.

Gorse.

I wondered what it was about Gorse
That made it so needed.

I opened the small
drawer of descriptions
in the display,
thumbed down the list
to see.

It said:
The Positive Effect of Gorse is Hope.

St James’s Cathedral with the sun catching the weathervane

Dear Readers, we are making the most of the sunny weather here in Toronto – it looks as if Tuesday and Wednesday will be wet and miserable, so today we went to Mount Pleasant cemetery to visit with John’s Dad’s grave, and then took a walk along the Kay Gardiner Beltline, before catching a new train on the Midtown Crossrail. First up, though, we went to our favourite coffee shop, Versus on Adelaide. I was very impressed by the sea horse…

and I think this might be a phoenix rising from the ashes, though it’s open to interpretation…

Outside, the sparrows were chirruping away. I still can’t fathom how they’re surviving in the very heart of this ‘vertical city’ whilst in London you rarely see one in central London.

And then it’s off to Mount Pleasant Cemetery, which is celebrating its 200th anniversary this year.

It is a very fine place to be lain to rest, although it’s slightly over-manicured for my personal taste. No room for weeds here! But the trees are truly magnificent, and according to the poster below are representative of nearly all the trees that can grow in the climate of Toronto

Two particularly attracted my attention: this silver maple…

..and this red oak, which is showing an enormous amount of resilience.

But of course, we were really there to spend a few minutes with John’s Dad, who was run down and killed in 2012. He was a kind, gentle and thoughtful man, and worked as a civil engineer – he’d have been most put out that the fountain next to the spot where he’s interred hasn’t been repaired yet.

What he would have loved is the sound of all the birds – the American Robins, Chipping Sparrows and Northern Cardinals were all singing their heads off today.

American Robin

And then we headed off towards the new Midtown Crossrail station via the Kay Gardiner Beltline. We passed the little community garden that I spotted last year, and I paused to admire the wood anemones…

Someone excitedly told me that there were some ‘Virginia Bluebells’ in bloom. At first I thought she was talking about the Siberian Squill, very pretty but invasive in these parts…

Siberian Squill

but actually there was Virginia Bluebell (Mertensia virginica) – this is a member of the Borage family rather than the Asparagus family (which is the ‘home’ of ‘our’ bluebell) It reminds me a bit of lungwort and comfrey, not surprising as these are ‘borages’ too. Virginia bluebell is native to the east coast of North America, and it was a real treat to see it.

Virginia Bluebell

On we go along the Beltline, past a very irritated squirrel.

And finally we get to Chaplin Station on Line 5. It’s over budget and late, but at least it’s running.

The stations are very spick and span, although apparently the white tiled floor gets slippery when wet (pretty much inevitable in a Toronto winter).

The announcements and signage are all in English and French, whereas for older lines it’s English only. I do like the upholstery though! Very French Impressionisty.

And so, after 11,000 steps we wend our weary way back to the Cambridge Suites for a sit down. We are eating our way through the different flavours of Eataly tiramisu, with pistachio our favourite so far (we share one, honestly!) What a life.

The Midlands from a Boeing 777

Well Readers, it’s time to make my annual pilgrimage to Toronto, to visit with my husband’s mother, who will be 98 during this trip. She is in a memory facility to the north of the city, and is doing as well as can be expected – when we saw her today she looked hail and hearty. She wasn’t quite sure who my husband was, but she knew he was Someone, and was glad to see him. At this point, this is a blessing.

The weather for the trip looks generally dire, so we were pleased to wake up to this view from the window…Toronto really is ‘the vertical city’, and getting more vertical by the minute.

Today was also the Sikh New Year, Khalsa Day or Vaisakhi – all the participants were in their best, brightest clothes, and I was so glad that the weather was so auspicious.

I was half expecting this part of Toronto to feel a bit sad this year – the Hudson’s Bay company, which had its largest store opposite our hotel, had closed, and half the place is being dug up for the new Ontario line. But fortunately the bit of the PATH that we always use to get to Queen station and beyond has been preserved, by popping in pathways right through the defunct store. Plus they’ve finally managed to repair the escalators that were broken for at least the past five years. And a branch of Eataly has opened in the Eaton Centre so we can get ourselves a salad lunch – Toronto meals are gigantic and protein/fat heavy, so it’s good to have another option.

After we’d been to see John’s Mum, we walked back to the station via the Finch Hydro Corridor.What the hell is that, you might ask? In effect it’s a linear park housing the main electricity pylons which bring power to the city. The pylons always remind me of giants made of girders. The path is shared pretty amicably between cyclists, walkers, runners and strollers of all kinds.

The ground between the pylons is pretty boggy, and a lone female mallard was taking advantage of a tiny seasonal pond.

The undergrowth has been allowed to grow under some of the pylons, producing a useful habitat for all kinds of birds, especially the omnipresent red-winged blackbirds. Their call has become the sound of Canada for me, and always reminds me of my dear departed aunties, Rosemary and Linda.

Thicket under a pylon

And here’s a red-winged blackbird…

Red-winged blackbird

I had turned on my Merlin app, and look what else we heard…

Especially chuffed with the trumpeter swan that we heard flying over – another fine memory of my aunties is going to visit them in 2019 and see a trumpeter swan hanging out with all the mute swans. You can read all about T29 here…

Trumpeter swan seen in Collingwood in 2019

When you get close to Finch station, some of the pylons are connected to this substation, while other pylons head off over the hill.

All in all, this was a great walk for the start of our Canadian visit – not too strenuous, but something new, and a fine antidote to jet lag. Let’s see what else we find this year!

Adult Kea (Photo By Edward the compressor – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=63905822)

Dear Readers, back in 2013 a student at the University of Canterbury, New Zealand, found a straggly, underweight Kea. The bird had lost the top half of its bill, and was in bad shape. Keas are intelligent but belligerent members of the parrot family, and are also an endangered species, so it was decided to rescue the bird and look after it in captivity. Because it was so small, the parrot was initially thought to be female, and was named Kati. However, DNA testing showed that Kati was actually male, and so he was christened ‘Bruce’ – ‘the silliest name we could think of’ according to scientist Ximena Nelson.

Bruce the Kea – photo by Ximena Nelson

Well. Bruce soon adapted to his new home with nine males and three females ( a group of keas is known as a ‘circus’, and as these are some of the most mischievous parrots around this feels wholly appropriate). His broken beak turned out to be a frighteningly dangerous weapon, and this 800 gram character was soon bossing birds weighing over a kilogram by threatening injury (and sometimes actually stabbing) the other male birds. He took over all four of the feeding stations, and some of the less dominant birds preen him and clean his lower beak. In 36 observed conflicts, Bruce won the lot. And so,  Bruce has turned his injury into an advantage, and is living his best life. When he was originally found, there were thoughts of providing him with a prosthetic beak, but he seems to be doing very nicely without one.

“I really like Bruce, actually,” Nelson says. “When there is reason to fight, yeah, he’ll fight and he’ll fight hard, and scrappy. But he’s not a bully.”

You can read the article in New Scientist here.

The journal article is here.

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

Goodness, Readers, it appears to have been  a good year for bluebells, both English and hybrid – the display in our local Ancient Woodlands here in North London has been pretty splendid, even in Coldfall. A lot of dead hedging has been put up here by TCV (The Conservation Volunteers) and this has protected the plants from the worst of the trampling. Sometimes all plants need is a tiny bit of protection to thrive.

Hybrid bluebells…

Now, admittedly the bluebells in Coldfall are hybrids, and  I’ve written a fair bit about this here. Suffice it to say that hybrid bluebells  (the Spanish bluebell is actually pretty rare in the UK) are more drought-tolerant than the English species, but are less tolerant of shade, so it may well be that we end up with hybrid bluebells in urban woodlands and at the edge of woods, and English bluebells in isolated woods, or in the centre of woodland. Personally, I’d rather see some hybrid bluebells than no bluebells at all, though the English ones are bluer, and more scented. There is something very special about an ancient bluebell wood, for sure.

English bluebells in a Somerset wood

In her post in Nature’s Calendar, Rowan Jaines discusses the relationship between the bluebell and the fungi that it depends upon to survive.

Bluebells generally germinate close to their parents in the autumn, and start life by burrowing their contractile roots into the soil – these pull the bulb deeper into the  soil to avoid the first frosts, being dug up by squirrels etc. It takes about four or five years between germination and first flowering, and  during this time the roots serve as anchors, but do not have enough surface area to take up the nutrients that the plant needs. Furthermore, the roots move down to a depth of about 20 centimetres, a long way away from the nutrient-rich topsoil So how does a bluebell grow?

Like many plants, the bluebell works in partnership with a group of fungi called arbuscular mycorrhiza. These colonise the plant roots and expand their surface area, in exchange for the carbohydrate that the plant produces during photosynthesis. Usually, plants depend more on mycorrhiza when they’re young, but the bluebell does the opposite, developing more of a relationship with the fungus as it gets older.

Recently, one particular fungus has been identified that attaches to the roots of the bluebell during autumn  and winter, and which transfers phosphorus to the plant in exchange for sugars. Scutellospora dipurpuresecens was recently recognised as essential to the bluebell displays in the ancient woodlands of Scotland, and was one of eighty species synonymous with the ecosystem, including much better known organisms such as the red squirrel and the golden eagle. At a time when science is just starting to recognise the complex interactions between plants, fungi and animals, which often take place at a microscopic level, it’s exciting to see a tiny fungus being recognised for what it does.

The sparrow nest box

Dear Readers, I put up my sparrow nesting  box back in 2020, and it’s fair to say that the sparrows have shown absolutely no interest at all. The site was briefly inspected by a blue tit in 2021 (apologies for the high quality photo)…

but then, about six weeks ago I noticed a great tit popping in and out of the nest box on the left. Birds are usually very particular about the size of the entrance holes, and I guess that a great tit is almost the same size as a sparrow (ish). Anyhow, the great tit has continued to visit, and I am keeping  everything crossed for a happy event or two. It’s not the best location, being right opposite the kitchen door, and the squirrels also use the climbing hydrangea as a motorway, so fingers crossed for a happy outcome.

All the disturbance re the shed hasn’t been exactly helpful for the wildlife, but hopefully everything will be done soon – the shed is due to be delivered in the next few days, followed by a skip and a massive clean-up operation, so soon I’ll be able to enjoy the garden again. Fingers crossed for that too!

Photo by By Gérald Tapp – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16116615

Dear Readers, I remember the first time I saw a moose in the wild – it was my honeymoon (nearly 25 years ago now), and we were in a boat on Maligne Lake when we saw the enormous animal, taking a leisurely wander towards some water plants. So big, so slow, so gentle unless provoked. As always, it felt such a privilege to see such a creature in its natural habitat, going about his business. I love this poem by Mona van Duyns, another poet that I hadn’t come across before. See what you think.

Moose in the Morning, Northern Maine

by Mona van Duyn (1921 – 2004)

At six a.m. the log cabins
nose an immense cow-pie of mist
that lies on the lake.
Nineteen pale goldfinches perch
side by side on the telephone wire
that runs to shore,
and under them the camp cow,
her bones pointing this way and that,
is collapsed like a badly constructed
pup tent in the dark weeds.
Inside, I am building a fire
in the old woodstove with its rod overhead
for hunters’ clothes to steam on.
I am hunting for nothing—
perhaps the three cold pencils
that lie on the table like kindling
could go in to start the logs.
I remember Ted Weiss saying,
”At the exhibition I suddenly realized
Picasso had to remake everything he laid his eyes on
into an art object.
He couldn’t let the world alone.
Since then I don’t write every morning.”

The world is warming and lightening
and mist on the pond
dissolves into bundles and ribbons.
At the end of my dock there comes clear,
bared by the gentle burning,
a monstrous hulk with thorny head,
up to his chest in the water,
mist wreathing round him.
Grander and grander grows the sun
until he gleams, his brown coat
glistens, the great rack,
five feet wide, throws sparks
of light. A ton of monarch,
munching, he stands spotlit.
Then slowly, gravely, the great neck lowers
head and forty pounds of horn
to sip the lake.
The sun stains the belittled
cow’s hide amber.
She heaves her bones and bag
and her neckbell gongs
as she gets to her feet
in yellow blooms of squaw-weed.
On the telephone wire
all the little golden bells are ringing
as that compulsive old scribbler, the universe,
jots down another day.

Dear Readers, as the bog bean (Menyanthes trifoliata) is in flower again in the garden I thought this unusual plant could do with another airing. The plant’s Wikipedia page describes how its roots can be used to make ‘an unpalatable flour for emergency use’, which sounds delightful, and much as I am currently into baking I think I’ll give this one a miss.

You might think that being a bog/pond plant would be a bit of a problem for caterpillars, but not a bit of it: bog bean is a food plant for both the elephant hawk moth (Deilephila elpenor) and the light knot grass (Acronicta menyanthidis). As the former also likes greater willowherb, which I have in abundance, I shall be keeping an eye open.

Elephant Hawk Moth caterpillar (Photo by By janet graham – Deilephila elpenor, Elephant Hawk-moth, Dolgarrog, North Wales, Sept 2015, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=63734845)

Light Knot Grass moth (Photo By Patrick Clement from West Midlands, England – 73.042 BF2286 Light Knot Grass, Acronicta menyanthidis, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=63728909)

And now, let’s find out a bit more about bog bean…

Bog Bean (Menyanthes trifoliata)

Dear Readers, I thought that the Bog Bean that I mentioned yesterday deserved a few moments of attention. This is a native plant, though not a bean (the leaves apparently look a bit like those of the broad bean), and the genus name comes from the Greek for ‘disclosing flower’ as the flowers open sequentially along the stem. I love the pink buds, and the ‘hairy’ flowers are apparently unique, though I imagine that this must surely have something to do with whatever creature originally pollinated them. Fossil seeds of bog bean have been found in the Carpathian Mountains, and they date back to the middle Miocene (about 16 million years ago), so this is a plant that co-existed with giant sloths, three-toed horses and ‘bone-crushing dogs’. The plant is related to the water lily, though not closely – it’s the only plant in its genus.

A Bog Bean in Quebec (Photo One)

Bog bean is also known as ‘bog hop’ in Northern England and some parts of Europe, and has been used to flavour beer and schnapps.  It is the County Flower of Renfrewshire. Apparently there are chemicals in the leaves which can attract cats in the same way that catnip does, though as this is a plant of ponds and other wet places that seems somewhat ironic.

The plant has been used extensively for medicinal purposes, especially in Ireland and parts of Scotland. The leaves are boiled to make a medicine for arthritis and rheumatism, congestion, indigestion, constipation, blackheads and boils. There’s a pool in Bute, Scotland, known as The Pool of Healing because the bog bean grows there. In Chinese medicine the plant is used as a cure for insomnia.

In Devon, children were said to say this rhyme if they had to pass through a dark passage or dangerous place. ‘Biddy Bene’ comes from the Anglo-Saxon word ‘biddan‘, meaning to entreat or pray. I rather like the notion that the goose and the fox were the things that children were afraid of.

Buckee, Buckee, biddy Bene,
Is the way now fair and clean?
Is the goose ygone to nest,
And the fox ygone to rest?
Shall I come away?’

Bog Beans from a remote Scottish lochan (Photo Two)

And of course, this is a plant of the bog lands, the most underrated and undervalued of habitats in spite of their role in capturing carbon and preserving all manner of delicate plants and rare insects. There is nothing as evocative, or as tricksy, as a bog, as anyone who has ever tried to cross one will know. Only those who really know the lie of the land can navigate a bog without wet socks, or worse. And so, I was delighted to find this poem by Irish poet Eileen Casey. If you would like to hear more of her work, there’s a short film here, which I highly recommend.

Treasure by Eileen Casey

Dappled light pleats lilac shadings.

Blue meshes with pink; bog weathered

morning enters its stride. Colour

sharpens as light deepens. Spider webs

drape lacy antimacassars across purple

heathers, yellow flowered asphodel.

Early frost begins to thaw, burgeons

sphagnum’s already swollen hoard.

Dew glistens pearly frogspawn,

dragonflies hover close-by. Skylarks

rise with meadow pipits and willow

warblers or stall over a bog-bean pool.

Man and beast leave traces in their wake.

A thumbprint traced in buried bog butter.

A psalter creased by righteous devotion.

Elk bone fragments. Bodies. Stabs of bog

shadow struggle with bog memory;

sacrificial wounds. We glimpse survival

in russet-edged leaves, mauve bruises

ruffled onto moss.

Bog is like a treasure filled galleon,

centuries deep. Imperial measure in peat.

We lose sight how, even inconsequential

elements become more than their sum of parts.

Faithful to its seasons, bog keeps track.

Photo Credits

Photo One by peupleloup, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Two by Sally from https://www.geograph.org.uk/more.php?id=4042853

White lilac

Dear Readers, the garden is having both a good time and a not-so-good time. You might remember that I was replacing my shed: well, the good news is that the shed is no more, and the concrete plinth has been laid….

Shed-in-waiting….

The bad news is that the garden is piled high with the remains of the old shed, which is due to be going into a skip as soon as the guys who are doing the shed/the skip people/me can get our ducks in a row. Hopefully not too much longer, as it’s hardly relaxing to be sitting in the garden amongst all this carnage.

But the lilac is really lovely this year, as is the rowan, which is covered in blossom…

The bog bean is in flower….

The red campion and the garlic mustard are doing well…

…and the green alkanet is not at all bothered by anything going on in the garden. It’s even growing through the slats in the bench, cheeky plant…

But it is extremely popular with bees, so I forgive it for being a bit of a thug. If you look in the photo below you can see a blurred hairy-footed flower bee (female!) zipping away.

The balm-leaved deadnettle (Lamium orvala) is doing very well – the native deadnettles have never done well under the whitebeam, but this plant seems to be able to tolerate the dry conditions a bit more. Another bumblebee favourite.

And finally, some pendulous sedge has popped up again next to the pond, and the flower heads look as if they’re smoking when the wind blows them, they have so much pollen. I guess I’ll be pulling the seedlings off for some time to come…

So, what’s going on in your garden, lovely Readers? I feel as if everything has taken off at a gallop here in East Finchley. I just can’t wait to get my garden back….