A Eurasian Hamster (Cricetus cricetus) in a cemetery in Vienna

Dear Readers, the only time I have ever seen a wild European hamster was when I spotted a very dead and squished one on a path above Sölden in Austria, but it appears that I was looking in the wrong place. Although this little rodent is critically endangered across its whole range (generally eastwards from Belgium), there is a growing population in the cemeteries of Vienna. There, the hamsters are said to steal the candles from the graves and pull them into their underground dens: the wax is a  a useful source of fat during the cold Viennese winters. I for one would not begrudge them.

Another Viennese cemetery hamster (Photo Sphoo, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons)

What is especially interesting to me is that the Vienna Cemetery people have welcomed a citizen science project, where people record their wildlife sightings – there have been a dozen species of mammals (including foxes, who will no doubt enjoy the occasional hamster as a light snack), 80 species of birds, and hundreds of species of other animals across their 46 cemeteries. How fascinating it would be to record something similar in our local cemeteries! I might try and get something going when I retire. I suspect, however, that the presence of endangered species in one of ‘my’ cemeteries might be extremely inconvenient for the management of some of them, where large areas are already being cleared for additional graves.

Most people’s exposure to hamsters consists of having a golden hamster as a pet – these are actually Syrian hamsters, and if handled from very young can become ridiculously tame. We had a ‘free-range’ hamster called Hammy (such imagination) and she was feisty enough to run up to our rabbit (Ben the Bun since you ask) and steal whole baby carrots from him while he looked on with an expression of disbelief. We also had a pair of Russian hamsters, who look adorable but are extremely bitey little things. Nowadays, I can’t help but feel sorry for small animals of all kinds in cages and hutches if they don’t have access to a bigger, more exciting space, and the freedom to live out their lives as they were meant to.

A rather adorable Syrian hamster (Photo By Harpoen – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23278931)

But back to the hamsters of Vienna. The European hamster is the largest hamster in the world (though admittedly not all that big) and can grow to the hefty weight of one whole pound (that’s 460 grams for anyone metrically minded). The species can also live to eight years, and, as it can start breeding at 43 days, and has litters that number up to 15 young, you would think that the world would be overrun, in much the same way as it was with Tribbles in Star Trek. Alas, between the intensive farming, the light pollution (hamsters are nocturnal), climate change (the hamsters usually hibernate but the warmer temperatures are confusing them) and persecution. Honestly, who could persecute a hamster? We really are shocking sometimes.

A European hamster with cheekpouches full of something tasty (Photo SgH Vienna, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons)

One good thing is that although usually solitary, the European hamster breeds well in captivity – there are breeding programmes all over Europe which aim to release the hamster back into its native habitat, where suitable areas can be found. I note that in 2011, France was threatened with fines of up to 25m Euro by the Court of Justice of the European Union for failing to protect the animal because of their agricultural and urbanisation policies. By 2014 France had started a captive breeding programme which aims to release 500 hamsters into the countryside every year, in areas where the farmers are paid not to harvest their fields. Well, this sounds like a rare and most welcome tiny victory for rodents everywhere.

And just in case you fancy watching a pair of European hamsters having a tussle in a Viennese cemetery, have a look here.

And here is one getting some food in for the winter. 

Honestly, I know where I’m going next time I’m in Vienna.

Dear Readers, one of the big pleasures of the time when the lavender is in flower is seeing who turns up. Although the bulk of the visitors are the honeybees from the nearby allotments and some nice big fat bumbles, we do also get the occasional little chap/chapesse, and they are almost invariably a nightmare to photograph. The one in the photo above actually has very pale eyes, and zooms about at such a speed that mostly s/he is just a blur. I rather think that what we have here is a four-banded flower bee (Anthrophora quadrimaculata), largely because I spotted one a few years ago – they are London specialists, fly around between June and August, and are described as ’emitting a high-pitched buzz as they hover and dart rapidly between flowers’.  I couldn’t put it better myself.

Here is a rather better photo from last year. The bee in the photos above looks rather greyer than the one below, but apparently this isn’t unusual in older bees (much as with older people). It’s also not impossible (she says) that the photos above are slightly overexposed (ahem).

Four-banded flower bee (Anthrophora quadrimaculata)

And how about this bee, which very obligingly sat on the wall instead of zipping about like a maniac? Well, now I’m looking at my photos I’m actually sure that  this is also a four-banded flower bee. You can even count the four bands. I am pretty sure that I also saw a leaf-cutter bee but this is Clearly Not It. Oh well. It just goes to show that this bee identification business is not as easy as you’d think.

I still think that bee numbers are down in general, though. Maybe I should start doing an actual scientific survey, and see if the numbers stack up. Any thoughts on what’s happening where you are?

Well, Readers, the meadow at the edge of Muswell Hill Playing Fields is looking absolutely splendid at the moment – I spoke to a woman walking her dog who said that she’d been sceptical initially, but that she thought it was absolutely wonderful. And so it is – we have cornflowers and poppies, mayweed and corn marigold, and no doubt lots of other plants just waiting in the wings.

To start with, people weren’t clear exactly what was going on, and there were worries that the plants would be trampled. But as they’ve grown up, the delineation between the meadow and the rest of the area has become clearer, no doubt helped by the wonderful posters from local children, explaining what’s been going on.

There were also worries that the local crows were eating the seeds, but my suspicion is that they were more interested in the worms and other invertebrates that had been turned up when the ground was rotavated to prepare for the seed planting – after all, clouds of crows follow the plough for just this reason (or did back in the day).

There are lots of pollinators about, including the less-appreciated ones such as the beetle in the photo below. The Conservation Volunteers are running pollinator surveys over the summer, and I hope to get along to at least one session, work permitting.

Considering how bare this area was just a few months ago, it’s very impressive how quickly the meadow has grown up. I look forward to monitoring its progress and watching the succession of plants over the next few months. If you live locally and haven’t been down to see it yet, it’s well worth a look, so take a wander down.

The meadow area in March

Dear Readers, after what feels like months the lavender, which has been on the verge of flowering, has finally started to attract its first bumblebees, and I could not be happier. A few days ago there were just a few common carders, and now the buff-tails and white-tailed bumblebees are here. I hope you’ll forgive a few photographs of them getting stuck into all that nectar. And the front garden smells amazing, although I shall have to don some gloves and clear out the worst of the green alkanet now that it’s gone over.

This being nature, danger also lurks in the form of a quite well-grown spider, who is optimistically slinging her net between the Bowles mauve wallflowers and the lavender. I think she’s still too small to snare a bumblebee, but the honeybees had better watch out…

The bottlebrush plant that my Aunties bought for me is coming into flower – strangely enough the bees are ignoring it, though in the past they’ve always been quite partial. Bottlebrushes are normally bird-pollinated however, as their colour indicates – birds love (and can see) red, while bees seem to prefer the blue end of the spectrum (though of course the flowers can look quite different under ultraviolet light).

And finally (because after four days hunched over my computer catching up with all the stuff that needed to be done after my exams my back could do with a break), here are the flowers that I featured over two weeks ago, and look! I cannot imagine a better advert for buying British flowers. What’s interesting is how many of the blooms have actually changed colour as they’ve gotten older. I have been meticulous about changing the water every two days, and I imagine that might have helped.

Twinflower (Linnaea borealis) Photo By Walter Siegmund – Own work, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2283836

Dear Readers, I have never seen Twinflower, and the chances are that unless you’re livijng in Scotland and have access to a Caledonian pinewood, you haven’t either. Which is a shame, because this is one of those fairy flowers, tucked away beneath the heather and the blaeberry, with the Scots pines towering over head. In case you’re not sure why it’s called Twinflower, have a look at this:

Photo By Walter Siegmund (talk) – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12083429

What has happened is that as the pinewoods have become more and more fragmented, pollination no longer works, as the bees have to fly too far to find other populations, and the plants cannot be self-pollinated. Instead, they grow into colonies like the one in the first photo, which means that all the individual flowers are genetically identical – clones. This means that they are at risk from any gene that is dangerous because there are no plants to provide any diversity, and if conditions change they are especially vulnerable.

Enter the Cairngorms Rare Plants and Wild Connections Project. They are helping the plants do what they can’t do on their own – meet new plants. Some members of the group have been nurturing cuttings from the original plants in their own gardens, and the young plants are now robust enough to be planted in the wild, at ten sites across the Cairngorms. Within ten years, the hope is that the plants will be producing seed themselves which will cross-pollinate with the existing plants and create colonies of their own. Let’s hope that this is the start of a whole new lease  of life for Twinflower. After all, this flower such a favourite with the father of taxonomy, Linnaeus, that the whole genus of Twinflowers, Linnaea, was named after him.

Photo by Alastair Rae from London, United Kingdom, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons