Dear Readers, the lurgy that I picked up in Venice is the gift that just keeps giving, and I have spent most of the past few days prostrate, though without any celestial visitations. However, I do have a few thoughts to share with you.

I listened to a very interesting Radio Four programme about plug-in solar panels. These could be a real boon for anyone who can’t have the more typical solar panels, but there are a number of things to take into consideration, like the little question of whether your home electrical system can take electricity coming in as well as electricity going out. As you can see, I’m not a technical engineer but I did find this fascinating. You can listen to it here.

As a little light reading, I’ve started on this book:

In part I’m reading this because my friend Ann loved Tennyson, but I didn’t quite ‘get’ him, so I’m belatedly trying to work out what the attraction was. But what I’ve found  most interesting so far is the way that the whole idea of species becoming extinct was an existential crisis for people  living in the early 1800s; it had been taken for granted that God had created the world and that it was pretty much stable and static, so the thought that giant animals had roamed and the world and were clearly no longer here was terrifying. The author compares the shock that ensued with the thought of nuclear destruction or, more currently, through climate change: if the dinosaurs became extinct, what would happen to all the other animals walking the world, even humans? Things became even more complicated later with the theory of evolution. There are these moments in human history when all the old certainties crumble, and it’s interesting to see how artists react.

And although I’ve included this poem before, it seems like a good time to pop it in again.

The Land of Counterpane

Robert Louis Stevenson
1850 – 1894

When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay
To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.

And now I’m off to make a cup of tea and to recline elegantly on the sofa. I might even do a bit of Duolingo German.

Photo By Domenico Salvagnin from Legnaro, Italy – Frozen Leaf, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38378046

For my US friends. In hope.

Salt and Sand
Kathryn Kysar

In dark winter coats at sunset, we spell out SOS on snowy Bde Maka Ska. We throw orange cones over tear-gas canisters on Nicollet. We share blue plastic whistles with neighbors. We are as common as salt, as common as sand.

We stand guard wearing yellow vests at barricades and preschools. We line Lake Street with vigil candles. We burn memorial fires on Portland. We shuffle thousands strong down towered Minneapolis streets, wave signs on frigid freeway overpasses. We are as common as salt, as common as sand.

We check license plates from our evening armchairs, drive diapers to community centers. We wear layers and layers against the cold, against the winds. We are the sand on Minnesota roads, we are home-printed Know Your Rights pamphlets in Hmong, Somali, Vietnamese, Karen, Spanish, and Aramaic. We are a thousand frozen flowers and snow-covered framed photos. We are as common as salt, as common as sand.

We are warm cars waiting outside the Whipple Building with thermoses and blankets. We are fierce mothers keeping our children in the basement. We do not answer the door. Shades pulled. Curtains closed. Windows locked. Lights off. We are considering leaving the country. We have tough talks with our kids, but we are enduring. We are as common as salt, as common as sand.

We are scared; we are brave; we are fearful; we are fearless. We are not divided by rivers or lakes, not divided by railroad tracks or tree-filled parks. We are not divided by neighborhoods, as we are neighbors. The ice is slowly melting under our thousand grains of salt, our thousand grains of sand. We will stand.

Narrow-headed Ants (Formica exsecta) feeding on a moth wing. South Devon, UK. May. From https://www.flickr.com/photos/160919311@N04/46167270472

Dear Readers, the insect in the photo is a Narrow-headed Ant (Formica exsecta). It is one of the rarest ants in the UK, with populations in Scotland, and a single isolated population in Devon. The ant lives in woodland, where it has a symbiotic relationship with plants such as the Small Cow Wheat (Melampyrum sylvaticum), whose seeds are dispersed by the insect. The Capercaillie also uses the ants as a food source. 

Small Cow-wheat (Photo By Konrad Lackerbeck, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2278812)

These wood ants like more open areas in woodland, and build nests about 25cm tall around tussocks of grass or other vegetation – as the plants rot, they provide heat to the nest. The south-facing side is usually largest, which means that it is literally ‘solar-heated’. The individual workers also sunbathe, returning to the eggs and young and providing them with additional heat from their bodies. Finally, the roof of the nest is ‘thatched’, providing another layer of insulation.

A queen Narrow-headed Ant can live for 25 years, and there can be up to five thousand workers. The nest is also shared with another specieIs of ant, the Shining Guest Ant (Formicoxenus nitidulus) which is only 2-3mm long – it benefits from the protection of the nest, but may also solicit food from returning Narrow-headed Ant workers. There can be several Shining Guest Ant nests in each Narrow-headed Ant nest.

It’s evident that the Narrow-headed Ant is an important part of its ecosystem, but it is also vanishingly rare. The Devon population is the last one in England, and the species as a whole is described as ‘Near Threatened’ on the IUCN Red List. All this makes what’s happened in the last few days even worse.

Someone appears to have gone into  the Chudleigh Knighton Heath reserve in Devon, where the ants live, and dug up an entire nest with a spade.

There are apparently such people as ‘ant collectors’, who would pay a high price for such a rare species. Another possibility is that the nest has been taken by someone keen on re-wilding, who wants to introduce the ants elsewhere. Both possibilities pose risk to the ants, who were being  monitored closely by the Devon Wildlife Trust and Buglife – moving a nest, even to other suitable habitat, is a complicated procedure, involving a lot of assessment as to whether the spot provides enough shelter and food for the ants. Whatever the reason, decades of work by conservationists has been disrupted, and we can only hope that the ants survive. This is a crime and has been reported to Devon and Cornwall police, so let’s hope that someone shops the perpetrator.

I knew that people would  steal nestlings and bird eggs, rare fungi and orchids, but this is the first time I’ve heard of anyone stealing an ants’ nest. Let’s hope it’s the last.

Dear Readers, I’m still a bit under the weather – the throat infection that I picked up during my travels is not a shedload of fun. I’m gradually improving, but looking out of the office window at the Amelanchior opposite has put me in mind of this particularly cheery Shakespeare sonnet, so I thought I’d share it, even though it’s not Thursday, when I usually post my poems.  Addressed to the ‘Fair Youth’ who has caused so many critics and historians to scratch their heads, it always seems to me to lay it all on a bit thick in a bid for sympathy, but see what you think. Some critics have suggested that it’s also all a bit cliched, but the problem with Shakespeare is that so many of his phrases have dropped into common usage, and we forget how new-minted they probably sounded at the time. Anyhow, enjoy!

Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold

By William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Siskin, siskin and chaffinch

Dear Readers, no, it isn’t snowing in East Finchley just yet, but this is just a reminder to those of us lucky enough to have space to feed the birds that it’s seed time again – the RSPB is suggesting that seeds and peanuts are safe to put out for the finches from November to the end of April. The guidance suggests:

• No bird tables or other flat feeders – birds often drop half-eaten seeds onto these, and even daily cleaning is not enough to prevent the accumulation of pathogens
• Give small amounts, to prevent a big build up of birds – it should supplement the natural foods that are around at this time of year, not replace them. It seems to have been a bumper year for berries around here, so hopefully no one will go hungry for a while.
  • Seed and peanuts – the amount  that the birds will eat in one to two days
  • Mealworms – the amount that the birds will eat in a single day (though a reader has pointed out that mealworms are bad for hedgehogs – hopefully they’ll be hibernating by now, but worth keeping an eye out)
  • Suet – the amount that the birds will eat in seven days.
• To be honest, I think this is a little bit confusing but I think the overall message is clear – if your garden looks like Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’, you’re probably overdoing it.

Anyhow, I’ve started re-introducing seed from today, so let’s see who turns up. I was absolutely delighted to see a blackbird in the garden this morning, the first one for ages (a sparrowhawk got the male of the last pair a few years ago).

I am very intrigued by the idea of planting natural food for the birds, though, and would love to know if you’ve planted something that actually worked. I had teasel at one point, which was thoroughly ignored, though I have seen sparrows and blue tits working over the dead buddleia flowers in the front garden.

In other news, I have managed to pick up some bug on the plane back from Venice, and am feeling marginally sorry for myself. But at least it didn’t spoil the holiday! What an amazing place Venice is. Here’s one last photo of San Michele, the cemetery island. Such an oasis of peace amidst all the hustle and bustle….

Venetian Halloween Biscuit

Dear Readers, we’re shortly heading home, but I realise that I haven’t shown you some of the quirkier sights of Venice, so here are some of my favourites…

It doesn’t matter how long you sit outside this Venetian caff, nobody ever comes to feed you. I guess it’s meant for the occupants of the attached hotel, but it’s still a bit confusing….

The Bienniale pops up everywhere….loving this bear and cub.

Venetian grafitti is always a cut above…

Every window is worth stopping to look at…

And below there’s a Venetian water ambulance parked up outside the Hospital..

A very fine crane outside the Arsenale…

And finally, the view from the Acqua Alta bookshop. Probably not the greatest bookshop I’ve ever been to (very crowded and very narrow) but certainly the most atmospheric.

Arrivederci, Venice! See you next time!

Dear Readers, the planned vaporetto strike for today didn’t materialise, and so we headed off on the 5;1 vaporetto to Giardini. We’d decided that, after the visit to the cemetery yesterday (as you know, I do love a cemetery) we’d go and follow up on one of my husband’s interests, naval history. The Naval Museum is in two parts. One is a typical museum, with lots of model ships, naval uniforms etc, but the other has actual boats and ships, so off we went. I did notice this very fine black-headed gull posing for his or her portrait, though. What an elegant bird! I’m sure this one would never steal the cream off of my gelato…

Well, the Ship Hall is very impressive. It used to be the place where the oars were made, before they were paired up with the ships being constructed in. the Arsenale.

Me being me, I was of course interested in the funeral barge. The tradition of transporting coffins to San Michele started after Napoleon took over, in 1807, but the Venetians soon made it their own. The gold orb with wings represents the soul of the departed.

If you were an Admiral, your funeral barge would be led by another barge with four black carved horses.

All very impressive, though I must say that the coffin I saw arriving yesterday was being transported on a standard motor taxi, so I guess, as with all things, it’s about what you can afford.

This was a very fine fishing boat, used to catch the famous soft-shelled crabs of the lagoon. Apparently there are ‘good’ crabs, who have just moulted and so can be eaten whole, and ‘bad’ crabs who, if caught, will fight with all the other crabs and cause damage to the whole catch. I was offered soft-shell crab in a restaurant this week, but didn’t realise that they were local. One lives and learns, clearly.

Traditional Crab Boat

There were also numerous winged lions, in various states of repair and disrepair. The story goes that the relics of St Mark were held in Alexandria, but were stolen on the order of the Doge by two Venetians merchants, and hidden in a barrel of pork fat, which would not be searched by the Muslim customs officers. They were brought to Venice and prosperity reigned, but then they were thought to be lost, and one disaster after another struck the Venetians. Then, suddenly, during an earthquake, a column in St Marks split open, revealing the relics. Hooray! Clearly Venice was favoured by St Mark, and all was well for another few hundred years.

One other very interesting ship, the Elletra, was one designed by Marconi for his experiments in radio signals – the vessel was described as a ‘sea-going laboratory’. Having been requisitioned by the Germans in World War ii, the ship was sunk by Allied bombers, but was eventually hauled from the bottom, with various fragments of the ship in different museums in Italy, including the ship museum in Venice, which got the engine room and some of the oil tanks.

So, that was a very interesting visit, but it was time to head off for lunch. On the way we passed a man playing an accordion, a sure sign that the weekend is approaching, and it’s nearly time for us to head home. But what a great week it’s been! However often I visit Venice, I always find something new…

Dear Readers, I had never been to the cemetery island of San Michele before, but today we decided to make the short hop across the lagoon. The vaporetto was filled with local people making a visit to their deceased loved ones – there’s a vaporetto strike tomorrow, which may have contributed to the crowds, or perhaps the closeness to All Souls on October 31st was also a factor. There is a florist where you can buy flowers for the grave, a coffee dispensing machine, and a map for those who want to seek out the graves of the many famous people buried in Venice.

There was a funeral while we were there – coffins, bedecked with flowers, arrive by boat, often at the back entrance.

The cemetery is a real haven for wildlife, particularly birds, like this jay who was finding something delicious on the trunk of this palm tree.

As you would expect, burial space here is at a premium, and I imagine that strict conditions have to be met before you can be buried here, including a period of residency. There are also strict conditions for being scattered in the lagoon. Many people who do meet the conditions have opted for cremation niches, and I rather liked the ladders scattered about so that you can reach your loved one if you’re on the ‘third floor’.

Lots of famous people are buried here: probably the most famous are Stravinsky, the composer, and Diaghilev, who founded the Ballet Russes.

Visitors to Diaghilev’s grave have left a small mountain of ballet shoes.

I also really wanted to visit Joseph Brodsky’s grave – Brodsky wrote a book about Venice called ‘Watermark’, but he was mainly a poet. I loved this, in particular…

So long had life together been, that once
the snow began to fall, it seemed unending;
that, lest the flakes should make her eyelids wince,
I’d shield them with my hand, and they, pretending
not to believe that cherishing of eyes,
would beat against my palm like butterflies.

— from “Six Years Later”,” Trans. Richard Wilbur

It took a bit of a search, but we eventually found his grave.

I didn’t realise how much I’d been missing green space until I came here, but it was good to sit on a bench and listen to the birds (goldcrest, robin, blackbird, black redstart). And the boat back was filled with Venetians, heading back to the land of the living.

Dear Readers, time seems to have gotten away with me a bit today, but I have just enough time to tell you a bit about our visit to Guidecca today. Situated to the north of the main island of Venice, it’s a low-lying strip of houses, parks, cafés and shops that has its own unique feel. Today, some goods were being picked up by crane, deposited into a large lorry and then taken off across the lagoon, all by boat. And very efficient it was too! In spite of the choppy seas, I’d say it only took about half an hour to sort out the whole thing.

If you want to get your feet wet, Giiudecca is the place, whenever I visit at least – the sea is always crashing onto the pavement. Still, for a little relative peace from the hustle and bustle of St Marks, this is a great option. You can hop over to St Georgio Maggiore, the magnificent Palladio church, on a number 2 vaporetto, but to be honest, my favourite church in the whole of Venice is the Redentore, just along the road. It, too, is a Palladio church, built to give thanks for the end of the 1576 plague in Venice, which killed 50,000 people there. Inside, it has a clean simplicity that I love. Plus, the organ was played when we were there.

Photo By Il_Redentore.jpg: Wknight94derivative work: Alberto Fernandez Fernandez (talk) – Il_Redentore.jpg, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8946416

I lit a candle for my friend Ann, and my friend Margaret, who loved Venice so much. And I lit one for my parents. I’m not a conventionally religious person, but it’s important to me to remember those I’ve loved who are no longer here to enjoy a beautiful day in this beautiful place, at least not in the form in which I knew them. And unlike some of the more baroque churches in Venice you can still feel a serenity and peace here. Do visit if you ever get a chance.