Dear Readers, you might remember that a few weeks ago I mentioned that I’m putting some wildflower turf around the pond (of which more in a couple of days). Well, the rolls of turf arrived on this massive pallet, and I am wondering if any of you have made use of such a thing – I’m not the world’s best DIY-er, so something easy would be good. It just seems a shame not to take advantage of all that wood.

So as to not just take advantage of everyone’s good nature, I have done a bit of research myself. First up, it appears that the wood in pallets is treated in different ways, and in some cases they’re sprayed with extremely toxic chemicals and pesticides, presumably to stop invasive invertebrates and other organisms from travelling from one country to another. You can tell how your pallet has been treated by looking for a code which should be etched into the wood – the following information is from Pallet Online (who even knew there was such a thing?)

The codes are:

• DB – debarked – the bark of the tree has been removed from the wood. This will probably appear on most pallets
• HT – heat treated – the pallet has been heated to a minimum of 56°C for at least 30 minutes
• KD – kiln dried – the pallet has been heated in a kiln to kill bacteria and pests
• DH – dielectric heated – the pallet has been heated and disinfected using electromagnetic energy
• SF – sulphuryl fluoride – the pallet has undergone fumigation using sulphuryl fluoride
• MB – methyl bromide – the pallet has been treated using methyl bromide, a highly toxic pesticide

And for garden projects, the website recommends not using the bottom two, which makes perfect sense to me.

Hang on a second while I run down to see what the code on my pallet is….

And there’s no code that I can see, but then it has been painted blue. Sigh.

Anyhow, let me know if you’ve undertaken a pallet project, and how it went. I am quite taken with the kind of thing in the photo below, but my pallet would need a fair bit of work to make it look as nice. Plus mine is a massive pallet, as you can probably see, so I’m not sure where I’d hang it.

Over to you, Readers!

Dear Readers, I am delighted to announce that I’m now a Fellow of the Linnean Society – this is the oldest natural history society in the world, and it has had many distinguished naturalists as members, including Charles Darwin. These days, its membership is open to those who are working to help to preserve and protect the natural world, and as well as research scientists its membership includes archivists from places such as Kew Gardens (the current president is from Edinburgh Botanic Garden), artists, writers, and indeed at least one humble blogger. At the moment, to gain membership your application has to be supported by two current members, but going forward there will be a membership committee, which will make the whole thing a bit more democratic. There are members from hundreds of countries, an excellent education programme and a whole range of talks and lectures, both online and in person.

The ‘swearing in’ ceremony is quite something. Fellows need to sign a book, and sign up to the values of the Society, which you can read at the link at the top of the page. Then you shake hands with the President of the Society: she or he wears a tricorn hat, which they doff, and very exciting it is too. The hat was only worn in the presence of strangers, so removing it indicates that you’ve been welcomed into the Society. I found it all strangely moving, especially with the portraits of Darwin, Wallace and Linneaus himself watching from the walls.

You can read about upcoming events here.

And here’s another piece that I did about the building that houses the Linnean Society and some of the treasures that it holds.

So now I can put ‘Bug Woman – Fellow of the Linnean Society’ (FSL) on my business cards, and very chuffed I am too.

Dear Readers, I am always amazed by the persistence of spiders. It’s the end of July, and so they’re just getting big enough to notice. This one is on the inside of my kitchen door. The inside! That’s not going to work too well from the spider’s point of view. There are surely more tiny insects outside the kitchen than in it, in spite of my less-than-perfect hygiene.

I actually noticed her yesterday (and I always assume spiders are female unless they are sporting those attractive boxing-glove pedipalps that the males wear). I had a whole conversation  with her, as I tried to gently catch her and put her outside.

“You’re not supposed to be in here”, I say. ” What are you doing in the kitchen?”

My husband shouts down from upstairs to ask who I’m talking to. From previous experience, he knows it could be:

• a neighbour’s cat
• a fox trying to muscle its way in
• an ant
• a frog
• a slug

Fortunately it has never (so far) been a burglar, or indeed any other human being.

“I’m trying to persuade this spider to go outside”, I shout.

Silence, but I can sense the most delicate of eye-rolls.

The spider folds her legs and drops to the doormat, where she is invisible amongst all that coir.

And today, she’s back, with a perfect web across the door panel. Not that you can see it, so she looks as if she’s floating in mid-air, like some kind of arachnid angel.

So, Readers, I may try to move her again, or I may leave her and see what happens. When the world seems to be going to hell in the proverbial hand basket, sometimes I find myself laser-focussed on some small ethical dilemma, because there is so much horror, and so little that I can do about most of it. And most people, I’m sure, have bigger things to worry about, and who’s to say that they’re wrong? But I’m going to carry on talking to spiders, and considering what I can do to help them to survive, and if I get a reputation as a bit daft I shall wear that badge with pride.

But I am curious. Will anyone else own up to talking to spiders, or houseplants, or other living things that I’m sure have never replied? Do share! It would be a great thing if there are more of us out there…..

Photo By Robert Pittman – NOAA (http://www.afsc.noaa.gov/Quarterly/amj2005/divrptsNMML3.htm]), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1433661

Dear Readers, Orcas have cropped up as a subject for the blog on a couple of occasions, most recently because they’d started to wear fish on their heads, and no one knew why. However, scientists all over the world are noticing that orcas are bringing ‘gifts’ to scientists – in Canada, Jared Towers, of marine research firm Bay Cetology, was offered dead birds by two young orca, Quiver and Akela. Both whales dropped the birds in front of Towers, as if waiting to see what he’d do, and then, when he didn’t react, swam off with the birds. Previously, Towers had been offered a dead harbour seal pup by a different orca. 

Towers reached out to other researchers to see if his experience was unique, and soon found that other scientists had been offered everything from stingrays to seaweed. Apparently the behaviour is not uncommon between Orca, who live in close-knit social groups, but to my mind it takes one helluva brain to extrapolate from this to offering food to a completely different species. It feels as if the whales are both curious about what would happen, and exploring the possibility of relationship.

Lots of animals give gifts, from crows to primates to domestic animals such as dogs and cats. With some animals, I get a distinct feeling that they’re being playful, even showing a sense of humour – Towers documents how one Orca, memorably named ‘Funky Monkey’, approached a researcher while wearing a stingray on his head. I love the idea that these whales are literally ‘testing the water’ with humans, and are curious about what we’d do with a chunk of blubber, or a dead gull. I only hope that they aren’t disappointed with us.

You can read the whole article here.

Large White Butterfly (Pieris brassicae) Photo By Alvesgaspar – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4087693

Dear Readers, today I started the Big Butterfly Count for 2025 – I’m planning on doing one in the front garden, where there’s a buddleia, some scabious and various other pollinator-friendly plants, and one in the back garden, where the hemp agrimony seems to attract a whole other range of small butterflies, such as Gatekeepers. But, as is usually the case, as soon as I set my timer for 15 minutes all the butterflies head off for a tea break. In the end, I had two Large White butterflies, who chased one another round and round for a bit before heading off up the road.

Sigh.

Still, there are lots of other things to look at, and in particular I’m intrigued with these teeny tiny little bees. They are some species of Lassioglossum or Furrow bees, but I’d have to trap them and dissect them to be sure, which seems very inhospitable. They love my Mexican Fleabane, and good luck to them! While the butterflies might be absent, these insects are having a fine old time.

And here’s a hoverfly – I’m used to seeing the big ones just lately, but this species is very small and neat. I’m pretty sure this is a Syrphus hoverfly, but which species would require someone who could examine the hairs on the fly’s legs, which is unlikely to be me.

And so, tomorrow, if the weather holds, I shall investigate what pops into the back garden. I hope if any of you are doing the Big Butterfly Count you have a few more ‘flutterbys’ to report!

Andrea Gibson (Photo By Andrea Gibson – Friend, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=152126249)

Andrea Gibson died aged 49 of ovarian cancer a few weeks ago. Such a loss, but what a legacy they have left us. See what you think.

How the Worst Day of My Life Became the Best

Andrea Gibson 1975 – 2025

When you are trapped in a nightmare, your motivation to awaken will be so much greater than that of someone caught up in a relatively pleasant dream.
—Eckhart Tolle

When I realized the storm
was inevitable, I made it
my medicine.

Took two snowflakes
on the tongue in the morning,
two snowflakes on the tongue
by noon.

There were no side effects.
Only sound effects. Reverb
added to my lifespan,
an echo that asked—

What part of your life’s record is skipping?
What wound is on repeat?
Have you done everything you can
to break out of that groove?

By night time, I was intimate
with the difference
between tying my laces
and tuning the string section

of my shoes, made a symphony of walking
away from everything that did not
want my life to sing.

Felt a love for myself so consistent
metronomes tried to copyright my heartbeat.

Finally understood I am the conductor
of my own life, and will be even after I die.
I, like the trees, will decide what I become:

Porch swing? Church pew?
An envelope that must be licked to be closed?
Kinky choice, but I didn’t close.

I opened and opened
until I could imagine that the pain
was the sensation of my spirit
not breaking,

that my mind was a parachute
that could always open
in time,

that I could wear my heart
on my sleeve and never grow
out of that shirt.

That every falling leaf is a tiny kite
with a string too small to see, held
by the part of me in charge
of making beauty
out of grief.

Chicory (Cichorium intybus)

Dear Readers, what a lovely, lovely plant this is! I don’t know of many flowers which are exactly this shade of lavender blue, and it was a pleasure to see a big stand of it at Heartwood yesterday. As you might have guessed, this is a member of the Daisy family (Asteraceae), and my Harrap’s Wild Flower guide describes it as an ‘ancient introduction’. But why was it introduced? Well, strange as it may seem, the ‘chicory’ that we see in greengrocers is just the cultivated variety of this plant, and both endive and radicchio are also descended from ‘wild’ chicory.

The plant has been cultivated in the UK since at least the early 16th century, when it was known as ‘succory’ – there were many tricks for producing the blanched spears, by forcing the plant in dark cellars (much like forced rhubarb) or under flower pots.

Belgian endive (Witloof)

Chicory root has also long been used as a coffee substitute – I remember drinking it as an impoverished student back in the late 1970s, though it was never a favourite. Apparently, in 1766 Frederick the Great of Prussia banned the importation of coffee, and a local innkeeper started to use roast chicory root instead.

The roots also contain a substance called inulin, which is a slightly sweet starch, also found in Jerusalem artichokes – it’s used by the food industry for sweetening, and as a ‘prebiotic’.

The leaves of the wild plant can be used as a salad vegetable, and the blue flowers are also edible – very attractive in a salad, I imagine. Chicory is also valuable as a forage crop – it sequesters selenium, which is an important element for cattle and sheep. In addition, domestic animals which have chicory in their diet seem to have a lower parasite burden.

With flowers as exquisite as this, it’s not surprising that folklore has grown up around chicory. It’s believed that it can open a locked door, but there are a number of requirements for how it’s picked – it must be gathered at noon or midnight on St James’s Day (July 25th, so you still have a few days!) Furthermore, it must be cut with a gold instrument, and the person cutting it must be silent, otherwise the harvester will die. Yikes! Just go to a locksmith, people. On the other hand, chicory harvested in this way can also grant invisibility, so maybe it’s worth it.

In Chinese mythology, the ‘silkworm mother’, who takes care of the silkworms, shouldn’t eat chicory or even touch it.

The leaves of chicory are the foodplants of the Marbled Clover moth (Heliothis viriplaca) and the Feathered Brindle moth (Aparaphyla australis), both moths of open grassland such as the kind we see above.

Marbled Clover (Photo by By © entomart Attribution, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=315028

Feathered Brindle (Photo by By This image is created by user Joop de Bakker at Waarneming.nl, a source of nature observations in the Netherlands. –  CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20562761)

And, while looking for a poem about chicory, I came across this one, by John Updike no less. I’m not sure that it’s great poetry, but it is closely observed, which always pleases me. See what you think.

Chicory
by John Updike

Show me a piece of land that God forgot—
a strip between an unused sidewalk, say,
and a bulldozed lot, rich in broken glass—
and there, July on, will be chicory,

its leggy hollow stems staggering skyward,
its leaves rough-hairy and lanceolate,
like pointed shoes too cheap for elves to wear,
its button-blooms the tenderest mauve-blue.

How good of it to risk the roadside fumes,
the oil-soaked heat reflected from asphalt,
and wretched earth dun-colored like cement,
too packed for any other seed to probe.

It sends a deep taproot (delicious, boiled),
is relished by all livestock, lends its leaves
to salads and cooked greens, but will not thrive
in cultivated soil: it must be free.

One of the meadows at Heartwood

Dear Readers, I was pining for the Alpine meadows of Obergurgl today, and so I was whisked off by my friend L to visit the largest new native forest in England. Heartwood is close to St Albans, and, at 858 hectares of woodland and meadow it represents an important habitat for all sorts of plants and animals. There is true ancient woodland here, including a bluebell wood, but over 600,000 new native trees have also been planted by the Woodland Trust’s army of volunteers. It is a magical place, and the meadows were expansive and varied – maybe not quite as varied as an Alpine meadow, but still absolutely full of life. 

On the way to Heartwood we passed through some fields full of horses, including one which was role-playing as a zebra, two who were grooming one another, and one magnificent heavy horse.

Then it was back to skipping through the flowers, while L stopped to say hello to many, many dogs. I told her that she should have a teeshirt with ‘dog-deprived’ on the front.

The weather was supposed to be dreadful today, but instead the sun shone, and the crickets sang.

And here was a real treat – a stand of Chicory. It is the most extraordinary shade of lavender-blue.

The variety of pollinators on the Creeping Thistle was extraordinary, with lots of different fly and bee species, and a lot of ladybirds, including some native Seven-Spot Ladybirds.

And look at the size of this queen bumblebee, she was about the size of a thumb-joint.

I really love Wild Carrot (Daucus carota) – it seems to also attract a wide range of pollinators, including the ‘bonking beetle’, though there was no bonking going on today.

Lots of the young trees are now full of berries, including these lovely Rowan.

And here’s the path into the new wood…

Lots of butterflies about today, including this Ringlet (Aphantopus hyperantus). This is a grassland butterfly, but it was taking a little break on the oak leaves.

Then, back past the horses…

…and past a barn where Barn Swallows were nesting. House Martins were also flittering about, and a lady in a wheelchair was watching them, enjoying the sunshine and the birds.

And then it was time for lunch at the Heartwood Café (highly recommended), and a leisurely 40 minute drive back to East Finchley. I had no idea that such riches were so close at hand – it goes to show how important it is to go on an expedition every so often, just to see what’s happening. And it also goes to show the sheer variety of animals and plants that will turn up if we recreate the right conditions for them.

Well, Readers, we managed to avoid all the storms yesterday, much to my surprise – I was fully expecting to be stuck in Innsbruck for hours while we waited for the thunder and lightning to dissipate over Gatwick Airport, but in fact we arrived only ten minutes late. What a muggy, clammy afternoon it was, after the crisp mountain air! But today it actually feels a bit better, and as I look out of the window I can see the Buddleia in full flower, a sure sign that we’ve reached the middle of summer.

My lovely neighbour has been watering the pots and windowboxes in the front garden, and they’re looking very lush and green. I know I should probably weed the box in the photo above, but I rather like the combination of Mexican Fleabane, Herb Robert, Delosperma and grass, so there you go.

I have all sorts of plants just popping up – I thought this was Purple Toadflax, but the colour is wrong. Still, the Common Carder Bumblebee seemed to like it. There’s a whole lot of self-seeding going on!

The Hyssop is doing very well, and providing a bit of late summer nectar for the bees.

And the Hylotelephium (or Sedum as was) is just starting to change colour.

Some Scabious have self-seeded into a spare pot, along with the Purple Toadflax etc etc, and very delicate it is too…

The back garden is a positive jungle. I have a rather lovely magenta Buddleia there, but the insects still prefer the ‘wild’ version at the front, maybe because it gets more sun.

And the Purple Loosestrife is in flower, and is actually vertical for once (a bit like me :-)) while the Hemp Agrimony is literally taller than I am.

And so, as always, it’s nice to be home.

First Orchids of the trip…

Dear Readers, I may well be home too late tomorrow to blog, so here are some of my favourite photos from Obergurgl and around…

The Hohe Mut Alm

Alsike clover (Trifolium hybridum)

Martagon Lily (Lilium martagon)

Mother Marmot

Baby Marmot

Italian Sheep

Black Vanilla Orchid

Alpine Gentian

Newly fledged Kestrel

Vivaparous Lizards

Fledgling Kestrel

Creme Brulee – doused in Kirsch and set on fire!

Rosy Chafers on Spiniest Thistle

At the Kirchenkarbahn

Cake at the Sahnestuberl!