Dear Readers, I have always tried to be a champion of unloved species, and so I feel as if I have a soul sister in Imogen Cavadino, who has done a phD on slug diversity in gardens with the RHS and Newcastle University, and who is determined that we shouldn’t tar all our garden molluscs with the same brush. You can find her whole talk here, but I thought I would share some of the highlights with you today.

Cavadino starts off by asking ‘what is a slug’? Well, it’s a mollusc, specifically a gastropod (which means ‘stomach foot’, and encompasses both terrestrial and aquatic snails and slugs). I didn’t know that slugs have actually evolved from snails – over time, that big cumbersome shell which provides protection but also takes a lot of energy to produce has shrunk and simplified in most slugs. In some, there’s still an internal shell about the size of a baby’s fingernail buried in the mantle (the smoother bit at the front end of a slug), in others the shell has been reduced to a fine powder. In yet other species, there is a very simple shell right at the tail end.

Slugs only make up a third of UK terrrestrial gastropods, which means that species-wise they are much less common than snails.

The shell of the snail provides protection not only from predators, but also from drying out, so slugs have a disadvantage in this area. Most slugs hide away in cracks or beneath the soil if it’s too arid, and are also inactive below about 5 degrees Centigrade.

One reason that slugs are so considered so icky by some people is the slime that they produce (although of course snails do exactly the same, and are considered rather lovable). Cavadino points out that slugs produce at least two kinds of slime – one is laid down so that the animal can move, but they also produce a defensive mucus, and indeed this can be used to identify the slug in some species – the dusky slug (Arion subfuscus) produces an orange mucus if stroked, for example.

However, this defensive slime doesn’t seem to be much of a deterrent to the many, many animals that eat slugs, from specialised gastropod-eating flies, the larvae of glow worms (who don’t eat anything else) and ground beetles to foxes, badgers and many birds, to frogs and hedgehogs. All the more reason to go easy on the slug pellets!

Another reason to lay off the biocides is that many species of slug are actually beneficial to the garden. 28 percent of slugs are omnivorous, for example, and eat dead and rotting plants, carrion and faeces.  A further 17% eat fungi. 12% are carnivorous, although these eat earthworms, which won’t help to endear them to gardeners. Only 26% are herbivorous, and while this group includes those pesky molluscs who eat our seedlings, some of these also prefer rotting plant matter. Finally, there are a full 17% of slugs who are so elusive and understudied that we don’t have the first idea what they eat.

How they eat is another matter. Slugs actually have ‘teeth’ (up to 7000 of them in fact) which  are attached to a rasping organ called the radula, which is often compared to a tongue. The arrangement of these ‘teeth’  is slightly different according to the diet. Below is the radula of a ghost slug (Selenochlamys ysbryda) which feeds on earthworms – note the channel in the middle so that the slug can suck up the worm like a piece of spaghetti.

In the photo below, you can see the patterns left by gastropods munching on algae on a greenhouse window.

And the sex life of slugs is extremely complicated – not so much the actual mechanics (most slugs are hermaphrodites, and so they just have to find a willing partner of the same species) but the rituals that go with it. In the netted field slug, for example, the slugs stroke one another’s sides, circle around one another, bite the tail of their partner and bash heads before doing ‘the deed’.

The leopard slug, in which the animals descend from a rope of mucus, has even appeared in a David Attenborough documentary.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Qy07i4C5Po

Cavadino also mentions that some slugs will quite happily mate with a member of another species, producing offspring which she describes as a ‘taxonomic challenge’. Indeed.

And finally, some slugs, especially Arion species (those big black and brown slugs that seem to be very common in my garden) sometimes ‘dance’ if they’re threatened. They contract to about a quarter of their body length and then rock from side to side, like the one below. I might have to try a bit of gentle persuasion next time I find one.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNtLpSvyxFA

So, there are approximately 44 species of slug in the UK and Ireland, and less than half are native – slug eggs and baby slugs are brought in with imported plants all the time, and they are extremely resilient creatures. Some are very rare. I was intrigued by the lemon slug (Malacolimax tenellus) for example – this little creature lives only in ancient woodland, where it feeds on fungi, and only emerges in autumn when the fruiting bodies of the mushrooms appear. I wonder if there are any in Coldfall Wood? I shall have to have a look before it gets too cold. For the rest of the year, it’s hypothesised that the slugs live underground, eating the ‘roots’ (hyphae) of the fungus. The slugs are totally dependent on ancient woodland – when it goes, so do they.

Another very rare slug is the ashblack slug  (Limax cinereoniger) which is the largest slug in the world  – it normally grows to about 15 cm but one a whacking 30 cms long holds the record. It again lives in ancient woodland where it feeds on fungi, though there is evidence that it isn’t quite as particular about its habitat as the lemon slug. Just as well, as ancient woodland currently only covers 2% of the UK. It is a rather splendid creature but has only been recorded in a few locations. Let’s hope that it hangs on.

Incidentally, as you can see this slug has a breathing hole on the right hand side of its body, near the head. Practically all slugs are ‘right-handed’. If you find one with a breathing hole on the left hand side this is something to get very excited about.

The only protected slug species in the country is the Kerry slug (Geomalacus maculosus). As its name suggests, this slug is found only in a few places in south-western Ireland, and also in north-western Spain and Portugal. There are two colour morphs – the black one is mostly associated with oak woodland, while the brown one lives, unusually, in blanket bogs and heaths. It also has a unique startle response – whereas most slugs when disturbed cling on to the substrate, the Kerry slug rolls up into a ball like a tiny armadillo. I think it’s a very attractive slug with its starry-spotted body. Let’s hope it will survive – it is also protected in its Iberian habitats, but is difficult to breed in captivity. As usual, preservation of the habitat is key.

And finally, if all this slug-related shenanigans has you interested in some citizen science, Cavadino is currently trying to find out about the distribution of a relatively new slug. The yellow cellar slug (Limacus flavus) has been around since at least the 15th century, but just lately a closely related species the green cellar slug (Limacus maculatus) has been making inroads. It’s thought that this latter slug has arrived from Ireland – whilst the yellow cellar slug has always been closely associated with human habitation, the green cellar slug historically was not, but the hypothesis is that climate change might be changing its distribution. You can find out all about the Royal Horticultural Slug Survey (and take part) here.

And finally finally, remember the ghost slug? This extraordinary creature is an all-white, blind slug that lives up to a metre underground and feeds on worms. It is also anatomically different from other slugs, with its mantle and breathing hole being found at the tail-end of the body, presumably an adaptation to its underground lifestyle. The slug was discovered from various sites in Wales, and its Latin name is Selenochlamys ysbryda, with the species name ysbryda coming from the Welsh word ‘ysbryd‘, meaning ‘ghost’. This is thought to be the first time that a species has been named from the Welsh language. Well overdue, I think. This splendid slug has not been recorded in London just yet, but it has been found in Welwyn Garden City, so it doesn’t have much further to crawl.

So I thoroughly enjoyed this talk by Imogen Cavadino. It was packed full of new information about slugs and their varied lives, and left me wanting to know more, which is surely the hallmark of a great introductory session. I am learning so much from this LNHS series, and can’t recommend them highly enough.

Photo Credits

Photo One  By Erik Veldhuis; modified by Tom Meijer – http://www.spirula.nl/images/nl_soorten/marien/Arion_subfuscus.jpg, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1835528

Photo Two By ©Amgueddfa Cymru – National Museum Wales – Attachment from email correspondence with Catrin Mears at the National Museum Wales., CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10551268

Photo Three By Chiswick Chap – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15009732

Photo Four by By Lucie Juřičková – Horsák M., Juřičková L., Beran L., Čejka T. & Dvořák L. (2010). “Komentovaný seznam měkkýšů zjištěných ve volné přírodě České a Slovenské republiky. [Annotated list of mollusc species recorded outdoors in the Czech and Slovak Republics]”. Malacologica Bohemoslovaca, Suppl. 1: 1-37. PDF. Online serial at <http://mollusca.sav.sk> 10-November-2010. Figure 84b., CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12266731

Photo Five by Rosemary Winnall from http://www.wbrc.org.uk/WORCRECD/Issue%2027/lemon_slugs_malacolimax_tenellus.htm

Photo Six By H. Krisp – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20634600

Photo Seven By Aidannnuigalway – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=47060168

Photo Eight By John William Taylor (1845-1931; UK) – Taylor J. W. 1907. Monograph of the land and freshwater Mollusca of the British Isles. Testacellidae. Limacidae. Arionidae. Taylor Brothers, Leeds. page plate XXIV., figure 24. Cropped and background removed by User:Snek01., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7555432

Photo Nine By ©Amgueddfa Cymru – National Museum Wales – Attachment from email correspondence with Catrin Mears at the National Museum Wales. catrin.mearsamgueddfacymru.ac.uk, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4456963

Dear Readers, this national animal thing is a bit peculiar. The beasts seem to have been chosen for one of two reasons: either they are a highly local species, or they are thought to embody the qualities that the country admires. Lions, for example, are seen as strong and proud, which is why many lion-less countries (including my own) have decided to adopt it. Everyone seems to have overlooked that male lions are often lazy critters who let the females do all the hunting, and who practice infanticide when they take over a new pride, hardly the most impressive of attributes, but hey, it’s the symbolism that counts.

And, inspired by Alittlebitoffocus’s suggestion I am going to add an additional twist. Instead of giving you the names of the countries, I’m going to just give you the outlines to match up. A bonus point if you can name the country and another one if you can name the animal! And because I think this is a bit trickier, I’m just giving you ten animals to match up.

As usual, answers need to be in the comments by 5 p.m. on Thursday (UK time), and if you don’t want to be influenced by speedier people, write your answers down first.

Onwards! And good luck!

National Animals

Country Outlines

All maps uploaded from https://freevectormaps.com/all a most excellent resource! Maps are free with attribution, or can be uploaded without attribution for a small fee. 

 

 

 

Dear Readers, we had some more sterling results this week, with Fran and Bobby Freelove, Susan and Anne all getting 15 out of 15, and Mike from Alittlebitoutoffocus getting 8 out of 15 on what I thought was a pretty hard quiz. Who knew that you could have a herd of cranes? Thanks to all of you for having a bash, and let’s see what I can come up with for Saturday 🙂

Photo Credits

Photo One by Mfield, Matthew Field – http://www.photography.mattfield.com, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Two by kallerna, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Three by Michael Gäbler, CC BY 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Four by Bernard DUPONT from FRANCE, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Five by Bernard Gagnon, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

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

Photo Seven by Ken Billington, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Eight by Harry geurts, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Nine by Virginie Moerenhout, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Ten by Paul Resh from Delaware,OH, USA, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Eleven by Evelyn Simak / A skylark (Alauda arvensis)

Photo Twelve by גיא חיימוביץ at Hebrew Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Thirteen by Peter Trimming, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Fourteen by © Francis C. Franklin / CC-BY-SA-3.0, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Fifteen by Bombtime, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Dear Readers, this might sound like it comes from the Department of the Blooming Obvious (as my Dad used to say), but scientists have found that caterpillars of the Monarch butterfly are more aggressive when they’re hungry, headbutting and lunging at their neighbours in a most indecorous way. Furthermore, the less food there is, the more fighting goes on. Bigger caterpillars, who are closest to pupation, are the most irritable, probably because they need the most food. The larvae are never aggressive when the caterpillars around them are simply resting, but things get ‘interesting’ if they’re competing over the same leaf.

You can read the whole article here.

Well, this accords pretty much with my personal experience – the less food there is, and the hungrier I am, the more likely I am to be confrontational and generally unpleasant. It’s interesting to see that it occurs in such a distant branch of the animal kingdom, however. The fight for scarce resources, be they food, mates or territory, creates the vast majority of the aggression in the animal world, and, as we are animals too, I expect things to get even more exciting than usual as climate change affects things like water resources and food supply.

So there’s a cheery thought to be going on with.

Much cheerier is the discovery that the microbiomes of sea squirts contain a potent anti-fungal, which can combat even treatment-resistant fungi. Historically, finding anti-fungals has been fraught with problems: strange as it might seem, the cells of the humble mushroom are so similar to those of humans that any many drugs can’t tell the difference, and so while they might kill the fungi, they might also have the side-effect of killing the patient.

The scientists, from the University of Madison- Wisconsin, isolated a range of compounds from the bacteria that live the sea squirt. One of them, which they’ve named turbinmicin – targets a fungal protein called SEC14p, which no other anti-fungal targets. Turbinmicin seems to be particularly adept at combatting Candida auris, a fungus that targets immuno-compromised people, and can infiltrate the lungs, heart or central nervous system, so this is a very exciting development, especially as there are no signs of toxicity so far.

You can read the whole article here

And finally, who knew that a little worm could produce milk? Well, actually ‘milk’ is a bit of an overstatement, but tiny nematode worms(Caenorhabditis elegans) produce a bodily secretion to feed their offspring which contains yolk protein (the scientists who discovered this propose calling the substance ‘yolk milk’). Although we think of mammals as being the only creatures that produce food for their young from their own bodies, lots of other animals, including pigeons (who produce ‘milk’ in their crops) and many insects and spiders also secrete nutritious fluids for their offspring.

What is interesting is that, after laying hundreds of eggs in just a few days, these tiny worms may actually break down their own body tissues in order to feed their young. This is triggered by a chemical signalling pathway that is associated with ageing in many animals. Is ageing a side effect of having offspring, one that has a biological purpose? After all this year’s shenanigans I often see parents looking as if they are disintegrating, so maybe there’s something in the theory 🙂

You can read the whole article here.

Photo Credits

Photo One by Maria L. Evans, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Two by Vincent Kruger, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Three by By Shawn Lockhart – This media comes from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Public Health Image Library (PHIL), with identification number #21796.Note: Not all PHIL images are public domain; be sure to check copyright status and credit authors and content providers.Deutsch | English | македонски | slovenščina | +/−, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=54680002

Photo Four By The original uploader was Kbradnam at English Wikipedia.(Original text: Zeynep F. Altun, Editor of http://www.wormatlas.org) – Transferred from en.wikipedia to Commons.(Original text: Donated by Zeynep F. Altun), CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2680458

Dear Readers, when I got these turnips in my vegetable box last week, I admit to being stumped, because of all the roots in the world, this is the one I like least. In Scotland, a ‘neep’ is a completely different animal – in England we’d call it a swede, in the US it’s a rutabaga, and whatever it’s called I’m  rather fond it, especially when mashed and served with ‘stovies’, a delicious mix of leftover meat, potatoes, onions and gravy. In fact, swedes probably merit a blogpost all to themselves, so I shall move on (with regret) for now.

I have a long and unhappy history with turnips, however. Back when I was a young thing and was working in Dundee, I had a blond Adonis of a boyfriend who was very into self-sufficiency. One of the things he grew was turnips, and when they were in season that is basically what we ate. There were turnips and broccoli for lunch (with additional earwigs which we where meant to pick out and put to one side). There was turnip and blackberry jam, following a war-time recipe. There was turnip and blackberry pie with custard made with wholemeal bread flour (don’t ask). There was turnip curry (which at least disguised the taste). Suffice it to say that turnips became my nemesis and I have never willingly or knowingly eaten one since. But here they are, and I am not going to waste the poor darlings.

Anyhow, what is a turnip anyway? Its Latin name is Brassica rapa subspecies rapa, and the wild plant is another of those mustardy cabbage plants with yellow flowers that are so confusing to the amateur botanist.

The name ‘turnip’ rather charmingly comes from the word ‘turn’ (as in ‘turn on a lathe/make round) and ‘neep’ from napus, the Latin word for vegetable – so, ’round vegetable’. The poet Sappho apparently called one of her lovers Gongýla, which means ‘turnip’, and I have to admit that when I was arranging the vegetables for the photo they reminded me so much of a pair of breasts that I had to turn one of them at an angle to avoid offending anyone’s modesty. Clearly, this lockdown is affecting my brain.

 

Turnips actually have a double whammy when it comes to food – the green tops can be eaten as a substitute for spinach or chard, although they have a punchier, more mustardy flavour. In fact, some varieties of turnip are grown solely for their greens, and I’m sure that they’re all the better for it – broccoli rabe, bok choy and Chinese cabbage are all actually turnips. The root is apparently milder when cooked (but still, I would argue, not mild enough), but turnips are also often used as animal feed.  In 1700 Viscount Townsend, a Whig statesman, retired to his country house and became involved in agriculture, no doubt to the delight of the local yeomanry. He did, however,  invent a four-year crop rotation system featuring turnips, barley, wheat and clover, and became an enthusiastic proponent of using turnips as a year-round animal feed. Such was his association with the vegetable that he became know as Charles ‘Turnip’ Townsend.

While turnip greens are high in Vitamins K, A and C. the root is hardly a nutritional powerhouse, containing 14% of an adult’s daily requirement of Vitamin C and rather a lot of water and carbohydrate. Nonetheless, some people have leapt into the fray and tried to make something of it. Its radish-y qualities mean that it is sometimes grated and used in salads. I note that the Good Food recipe site has turnips in marmalade, turnips with duck, crispy salmon with turnip, mandarin and noodle salad and turnip tartiflette . I am going to put my turnips into a red lentil and turnip chilli from one of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s books, but as my husband’s stomach can’t tolerate chilli I shall be splashing on the pepper sauce after cooking. If you have any failsafe turnip recipes that don’t taste too much of turnip, do let me know.

There seems to be something essentially comedic about the poor old turnip. For example, in an attempt to puncture what’s perceived as the po-faced nature of the Turner Prize ( the UK’s chief prize for ‘modern’ art of all kinds), some wag dreamed up the Turnip Prize. The prize is given to exhibits that display a lack of effort, and which are rubbish, though I also detect a very British love of puns. Some of its winners have included a builder’s hard hat with elf’s pointy ears attached (‘Elfin Safety’), a lump of dough with toy children embedded in it (‘Children in Knead’) and a pole painted black (‘Pole Dark’). The prize is, of course, a lump of wood with a turnip nailed to it.

Nonetheless, the turnip has also played a more serious role in history. During the winter of 1916-17, the German populace were close to starvation. The harvest of the potato, a staple food in the country, failed and this, combined with the Allied blockade, the seizure of farm horses for the army, the diversion of nitrogen fertilizers to make explosives and the lack of agricultural manpower as people were drafted into the army made for a perfect storm. The government attempted to substitute turnips, normally used for animal feed, for the lost potatoes, but turnips have a much lower nutritional value, and mortality, particularly among women, increased by 30% in 1917. Furthermore, it’s believed that the malnutrition also had a lasting effect on the immune systems of those who survived, making them more vulnerable to the so-called Spanish flu pandemic which ravaged the world right after the war. The Germans call this period ‘The Turnip Winter’, and a loathing of turnips lingers to this day amongst the older population.

Strangely enough though, just across the border in Austria, the municipality of Keutsch am Zee features a very splendid turnip on its coat of arms, probably a nod to the agriculture which was the chief source of income for the area until tourism came along.

And finally, did you ever wonder what people made Halloween lanterns out of before pumpkins arrived from the New World? Well, again it’s our old friend the humble turnip, though I suspect the larger swede is more often involved. Apparently these lanterns are still made out of turnips on the Isle of Man, and in Ireland and Scotland (so do let me know if the pumpkin has made inroads into lantern-making in your neck of the woods – I do suspect that pumpkins are much easier to carve).

And so, a poem. How delighted I was to find that Seamus Heaney had written a poem about a turnip snedder, a machine used to slice up the turnips to make feed for the animals. Here is one from Sentry Hill in County Antrim, from an excellent blog by Anne Hailes – well worth a look.

 

Dear Readers, what a misty, chill, autumnal day it was today (Saturday)! We were slow off the mark for our weekly walk in the cemetery, but when we got there it was extremely quiet – maybe we’d missed all the people who normally come early, or maybe the weather just persuaded people to stay in bed. At any rate, I was happy to visit with the swamp cypress, who is standing in a puddle of copper spent foliage. Just look at the colour!

What was remarkable today, however, was the number of bird sightings. Howabout this kestrel for a start. This little fellow was sitting in an ash tree, watching the ground for mice. He looks a little scruffy but then none of us are all  that dapper at the moment.

He waited around for a good five minutes, then got fed up and headed off, flying sleek and low over the graves. He looked much sleeker in flight than he does here.

There were lots of smaller birds around – mixed flocks of tits, and lots of goldfinches pecking over the ash keys. Ash really does support a lot of different creatures. No wonder it was (probably) the World Tree in Norse mythology.

And then, the best sighting of the day. I have been hearing green woodpeckers in one corner of the cemetery for weeks but have never got a photo. Finally, I saw one not too far away in a tree.

And I was very pleased with myself until my lovely long-suffering husband piped up.

‘What’s that green bird?’ he asked. ‘Is it a parrot?’

Well, no. About 10 metres away was another green woodpecker. What a splendid bird it is close up, with its red crest, blue eyes and gold tail feathers. This one was thumping about on an anthill, because unlike other UK woodpeckers, it doesn’t eat grubs from tree bark but concentrates on ants. Now I know where the anthill is, I’ll be able to keep an eye open.

Apparently the females have a black moustache, and the males have a moustache with a red centre. I didn’t manage to get any head-on photos to check with this bird. They are surprisingly large too.

I think that green woodpeckers look a little like dragons, and to be honest I couldn’t have been more delighted if they had been some kind of mythological animal. This one drilled away into the soil for a good two or three minutes as I stood there clicking away. It seems to me that getting outside on a miserable day sometimes brings its own rewards – I imagine that animals are a bit more relaxed when there aren’t so many people about. It certainly cheers me up.

Incidentally, does anyone remember this remarkable photograph captured by Martin Le-May in Hornchurch Country Park in 2015? No photoshop or other nonsense involved.

Apparently Le-May was walking in the park hoping to show his wife a green woodpecker as she’d never properly seen one before, so they both had their cameras and binoculars. What appears to have happened is that the weasel grabbed the woodpecker as the bird hunted for ants. Maybe the mammal underestimated the size of the woodpecker, but then weasels are renowned for punching above their weight. The bird took off, with the weasel presumably trying for a neck bite. Le-May saw the bird throw the predator off, and both went their separate ways.

No such drama for me, fortunately, just a sense of being incredibly lucky to have seen a kestrel and a green woodpecker in one visit.

A buzzard flew over again, this time with about twelve crows in attendance. I can’t help but think that the buzzard roosts in the wood. I wonder if it will nest next year? That really would be something.

And I imagine that the green woodpecker was the greenest bird in the UK until these little guys arrived.

 

I suspect these guys are already looking for tree holes to nest in – they can start breeding as early as January. They certainly like the big old Victorian-era trees in the cemetery. Fortunately, between the cemetery and Coldfall Wood next door, there are a large number of mature trees to choose from, and we seem to be holding on to our populations of cavity-nesters – woodpeckers, stock doves, nuthatches and parakeets. Long may it continue.