Dear Readers, it’s the time of year when, pandemic or no pandemic, we have to tidy up the pond. The hornwort has done so well that we pull kilos of the stuff out of the water and pile it on the bank so that any invertebrates can wriggle back to safety. The frogs are always less than impressed, and stick their heads up to see what fresh hell is being enacted. Fortunately there is still lots of cover and so they soon relax.

The weather has gone from cold enough for me to take a hot water bottle to bed to an estimated 84 degrees tomorrow, which is most unseasonal. And as if to point out that summer isn’t quite over yet, a trio of common darter dragonflies were soon zipping above the pond, with one of them repeatedly bobbing down to the water as if laying eggs.

Common darter (Sympetrum striolatum)

These are very confiding dragonflies and are difficult to spook – a few years ago I was sitting beside a pond when a common darter actually landed on my arm, giving me a chance to have a good close look at those amazing dark red and green eyes. I felt very privileged to be used as a perch by such a splendid creature.

I spent a bit of time cutting back some of the hemp agrimony (though I will leave some for the birds and for hibernating insects). A hummingbird hawk moth popped in for about five seconds to feed on the remaining flowers, so I will leave the rest for a few weeks. At some point I’ll have to take out the waterlily leaves as well, but they can wait for a while. My next priority will be to get my bulbs planted – as usual I have bought way too many, but I never could resist a special offer. I am going to give honey garlic a go this year (on the recommendation of my Gardening For Wildlife book), plus some more fritillaries and a raft  of grape hyacinths who don’t seem to mind the shade at the back of the garden. Plus I have bought some more cyclamen coum and hederifolium for my woodland border, which currently looks as if a bomb has hit it. Who else is planting bulbs? Any recommendations for spring bulbs for shade? Bluebells would be an obvious choice, but after trying numerous times with English bluebell bulbs I am going to try to plant them in the green in spring.

Honey garlic (Nectaroscordum siculum) (Photo One)

So, the year has turned, regardless of our little human concerns. I rather like September – it has always felt more like a beginning than January to me. I got married in September, we moved to this house in September (ten years ago now), and of course the school year starts in September. Although nature is getting ready, in the Northern Hemisphere at least, to tuck itself in for the winter, I always feel more energised and up for a challenge as the nights draw in. It will be interesting to see what unfolds.

Photo Credits

Photo One by David J. Stang – source: David Stang. First published at ZipcodeZoo.com, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=61178086

Riggit Galloways (Photo One)

Dear Readers, my post on Native by Patrick Laurie had me thinking about native breeds of domestic animal, and how varied and beautiful they are. And so, this week, our mission is simple – can we match the animal to the country that it comes from? And, to make life a little easier, this week I am going to experiment with giving you a whole week to submit your answers, so they will be published next Saturday, and to be ‘marked’ you need to get your answers into the comments by 5 p.m. UK time on Friday.

So, you will get one mark for the correct country, and a second mark if you can actually name the breed. As normal, if you don’t want to be influenced by those who have gone before, write your answers down on a piece of paper before you pop the answers into the comments.

So, if you think that the piggy in photo 1 is from Australia, your answer is 1) a)

And before you ask, the Riggit Galloways in Photo One are from Scotland.

Onwards!

a) Australia

b) Iceland

c) France

d) Turkmenistan

e) Hungary

f) Norway

g) USA

h) South Africa

i) Democratic Republic of Congo

j) Ireland

k) Turkey

l) India

m) Scotland

n) Belgium

o) Russia

1)

2)

3)

4)

5)

6)

7)

8) The rabbit please (though one extra mark for the breed of dog…)

9)

10)

11)

12)

13)

14)

15)

Echinacea

Dear Readers, can it really be nearly eight months since my last visit to the garden centre? This year has seemed interminable and yet simultaneously the days have sped past. Today, I went to the Sunshine Garden Centre in Bounds Green with my friend J, and it lived up to its name. I have never met such friendly staff as the people at this place, and it really lifted my spirits to see all the plants. The restaurant was also open with a little bit of outdoor seating and vegan chocolate truffle cake. It was so satisfying to do something that felt the tiniest bit normal, even though with Covid rates doubling every eight days in the UK at present we could all be back in lockdown soon I suspect.

Pink Salvia

The mood of the autumn seems to be ‘shades of pink’. I’d never seen a pink salvia before, but here we are. My garden is a bit too shady for salvias to be really happy, but they are splendid bee plants, and a few queen bumblebees were buzzing about here. As regular readers will know, I like to let the bees choose what I buy, but I have to be sensible too about what will actually survive in the garden.

Lovely heathers, but they don’t like my garden either, even the ones that don’t need ericaceous soil.

And as foxgloves are biennial, these will die after they’ve flowered. Maybe I’d get some self-seeded ones, but I suspect not.

I have always been fond of the ornamental cabbages, but again I have to resist. There is no room in my garden for anything that can’t punch its weight for at least two seasons.

But sometimes I have my preconceptions tested, and today was just such a day. My friend is very fond of cyclamen, and was buying some for her pots.

‘Gosh’, I said, ‘There’s a honeybee on that cyclamen’.

I have always written cyclamen off as far as pollinators go, but it seems I was wrong. Common carder bees were going mad collecting the pollen, and there were queen bumblebees too. I am sure that I have never seen this before. Is it just this particular variety, I wonder, or have I just never noticed?

My Gardening for Wildlife book doesn’t give cyclamen a single mention. Gardeners, what do you think? Is it just that the bees of North London have learned a new skill, or has something else changed? Whatever the reason, I shall consider giving cyclamen some more room in my garden going forward.

Black Beauty by Anna Sewell

Dear Readers, I believe that the books that we read when we’re growing up can change the way that we look at the world, and so today I wanted to mention one of my favourites, Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty.  I was an urban child who grew up in the East End of London, and I swear that I had never seen a real live horse , but  this didn’t stop me being completely and utterly obsessed by them.The man in the corner shop, Mr Battel,  had a plastic model of a horse that advertised White Horse whisky. It took pride of place in the big window, illuminated by a single spotlight, and I would gaze at it with such love that one day Mr Battel took pity and gave it to me.

White Horse Whisky (Photo One)

This was the start of a collection of plastic model horses. I had just  learned to knit, so I made them not only full sets of medieval chainmail(for jousting)  but trouser suits for as well (and if you’ve never seen a plastic horse in a cerise flared trouser suit then I have to say that you’ve never lived). The horses used to share the bed with me , in spite of their being cold and rather unyielding.  Thinking about it now, I suspect that I just wanted to keep everything safe and snug. I have always hated it when someone or something is omitted from the proceedings: I was familiar even at this early age with being the ‘odd one out’, so it felt important that everyone was included, even if they were a bit difficult to cuddle.

And yet, it wasn’t until I read Black Beauty that the idea of the horse as a creature that might have complex emotions, just like me, began to coalesce. What a difficult read this book is for a sensitive child! I know people sometimes complain about the issues raised in Young Adult books these days, but the animal cruelty and the realism about the short, hard lives of working horses was devastating to me. And, indeed, Sewell didn’t write the book for children; she wanted adults to know about the mistreatment of the horses that she saw on the streets eveery day. Sewell wrote ‘Black Beauty’  in the last months of her life when she was confined to her house as an invalid; as a child she had broken both her ankles in an accident and the medical care she received afterwards was inadequate, leaving her with a permanent disability that became worse towards the end of her life.  It’s difficult not to see Sewell’s injuries as parallel to those that occur when Black Beauty has a fall, which damages his knees and brings him into a cycle of harder and harder work. This book has been called the ‘most influential anti-cruelty novel’ of all time.

Anthropomorphism has a bad name these days, but anyone who has ever owned a pet, or worked with animals, knows that although they aren’t the same as human beings, they can feel many of the same things. I have seen my cat afraid, befuddled, curious, anxious, relaxed, , happy and mischievous, often in the space of half an hour. I find it difficult to comprehend how, knowing this, people can torment animals or ignore their similarity to us, although I suppose it the cruelty isn’t that surprising, considering how easy it seems to be to put aside the desperate need of members of our own species. I wept when Black Beauty sees his friend Ginger’s body passing on its way to the knacker’s yard, and it filled me with such rage that, aged eight, I wrote and illustrated a little book on ‘riding and stable management’, full of advice on how to tie a halter and full of information about  what proportion of oats were appropriate at what times of year.

No, I still hadn’t seen a horse.

But then, when I was about ten, we went on holiday and Dad noticed that there was something that might interest me nearby. So, we all crammed into the Ford Popular and headed off. It wasn’t until I saw the sign for Shire Horse farm that I realised that my Dad (who never did anything by halves) had found somewhere that had the largest horses in the world. I will never forget the way that the ground thundered as the horses galloped around the paddock, the feeling of fear as one approached, looming larger and large, and the joy as he delicately took an apple from the palm of my hand and crunched the whole thing in a single bite. I remember how delicate the skin on his neck was as it twitched to get rid of the flies, and the size of his feet, bigger than dinner plates.

And somehow I still loved horses, but the idea of riding them no longer appealed. It seemed to me that these creatures were somehow too magnificent to be used to carry lumpen humans around. They seemed too good for us, somehow. How blessed we are to live on this planet and to be surrounded by such extraordinary creatures, and how easy it is to take it for granted. I sometimes think that if we saw the true wonder and complexity of the world that we live on, it would cleave us in two like lightning.

Photo Two

Photo Credits

Photo One from https://www.hemswell-antiques.com/antiques/advertising-collectables/kelsboro-ware-white-horse-scotch-whisky-figurine-70146.html?gclid=EAIaIQobChMIwtyx5v7e6wIVR5nVCh2IsAFKEAQYBSABEgJIR_D_BwE

Photo Two from https://www.globetrotting.com.au/horse-breed-shire-horse/

Dear Readers, yesterday I saw my friend S for the first time since lockdown started. We’ve known one another since 1981, and, apart from her year in Australia back in the ’90s this is the longest we’ve ever gone without seeing one another. But, in the way of all true friends, it was as if we had never been apart: we fell back into our rhythm of give and take, listen and talk, as if it had been there all the time in the background, just waiting to be resurrected.

We decided to meet outside as we are both in our sixties and, as much as we might try to ignore it, we are at higher risk should we get Covid than younger people. And so I suggested Walthamstow Wetlands, and what a splendid place it is. I have been several times previously (see here and here) but this time we explored the reservoirs by the Maynards entrance. Whichever way you look, there are apartment blocks going up, but there is also some splendid Victorian architecture to be seen alongside the reservoirs. I love that there are still Thames Water workers doing their ‘thing’ to keep our water supplies safe, even if it does mean dodging the occasional car.

At the moment, there are hundreds of coots, tufted ducks and pochards, making elegant patterns as they swim across the reservoir.

And here is a bird that is now popping up everywhere, although the first pair only nested in 1996. Little egrets have taken to our lakes and rivers with great enthusiasm, and my Crossley Guide states that their plumage is ‘invariably immaculate’. Indeed. This one is probably a juvenile because it has green legs (or at least I imagine that they are both green because, as is often the way with storks and herons I can only see one). Apparently the call of the bird is ‘an irritable growling’. I know just how they feel.

There are lots of people out and about, but it’s easy to social distance: we stand aside for a group of cyclists, who appear to be mostly in their seventies and eighties but are not afraid of lycra. I notice a very fine mute swan, and then I see a cygnet. Such elegant birds, even if I was once chased up a country lane by one when I came a little too close to her nest by mistake. They have a surprising turn of speed for such large birds I can tell you.

Adult mute swan not cooperating with my camera work

Cygnet being more obliging

But then I hear an unfamiliar peeping sound coming from the middle of the water. What is it?

It’s a young Great Crested Grebe. I love those zebra-stripes on the head, which will gradually  be lost over the winter. For now, though, the youngster is still relying on parental provision of food. I spot an adult a hundred metres away.

Looks like s/he’s got lunch. The adult swims at surprising speed towards the chick, who is squeaking away. It’s like that bit in a romantic movie where the lovers run towards one another across a crowded train station, only it’s usually roses not a stickleback.

Coots rush to get out of the way as the fish is delivered, and the youngster gives the parent approximately 5 seconds relief before it starts calling again. What hard work it is to raise a young creature! I bet the adults will be relieved when this one is off-hand and they can put their (very large) feet up until the whole shenanigans begins again in the spring.

Not all of the reservoirs are accessible at the moment, so we loop back towards the entrance.

Pretty much the end of the road at the moment

There are still some plants in flower: Vervain (Verbena officinalis) is a new one to me, and I rather think that there might be a nursery spider egg case in the undergrowth behind it (which I didn’t notice until I uploaded the photo).

The purple loosestrife (Lythrum salicaria) is a lot less leggy than the stuff in my garden, but then this plant is growing out of a crack in the concrete, poor thing.

Purple loosestrife ( Lythrum salicaria)

There’s some greater birdsfoot trefoil(Lotus pedunculatus) growing in the damp places alongside the reservoir – the flowers are a pure yellow without the occasional red and orange tints of common birdsfoot trefoil(Lotus corniculatus).

And across the road in what I think of as the main part of the wetlands, there are some hops! I love those ‘cones’ – there are the female flowers which enlarge after pollination. I feel several Wednesday Weeds coming on…

While we walk along the edge of the reservoir, I spot one of those Victorian water towers that I was talking about earlier. I love that the Victorians took care to pop in some detailing on the ‘bridge’, and to give the tower itself some crenellations.

And there are islands in the middle, currently serving as lookout posts for the cormorants.

What a pleasure it was to go somewhere different today, to find some new plants and, most of all, to reconnect with someone who has been part of my life for such a long time. What is so splendid about old friends is that there is so much that you don’t have to explain, a richness and patina that only comes with knocking along together, through bad times and good times, until just a gesture is enough to communicate a whole history. How lucky I am.

Love-lies-bleeding (Amaranthus caudatus)

Dear Readers, I do love a display of a single species of plant, especially when it is as striking as this one. I love it even more when it’s only a thirty-second walk from my house! As we move towards autumn, it becomes harder and harder to find ‘weeds’ that I haven’t covered yet, but this stunning annual more than makes up for it. I suspect that the plants are a mixture of ‘typical’ Love-lies-bleeding, with the deep red tassels, and Amaranthus caudatus var. viridis, for the green tassels.

This splendid plant comes originally from the Andes, where it is known as Kiwicha. Some amaranth species have naturalised in parts of the UK, where they are believed to have been introduced in grain crops or in pet food. However, the plant has played a important role in human nutrition: it is believed that the seeds from the amaranth plant accounted for up to 80% of the protein needs of the indigenous peoples of Mexico and Central America before the Spanish conquest. Even today, the grains are toasted and mixed with chocolate, honey or molasses to make a drink called Allegria, which means ‘joy’ (and very joyful it sounds too). Skull shapes are made with amaranth grain and honey for the Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexico.

Photo One

The leaves and stems have been used extensively in many parts of the world, from India to West Africa to the Caribbean, where Amaranthus tricolor is known as Callaloo. In the Yoruba language, it is known as shoko, which is a shortened form of shokoyokoto (meaning ‘make the husband fat’) or arowo jeja (meaning ‘we have money left over for fish’). Amaranths are highly nutritious plants: the seeds contain up to 14% protein, while the leaves are a rich source of Vitamins A and C. Like many staple foods, it has kept populations going for millenia.

A traditional Southern Kerala Thoran made with Chora (amaranth) leaves (Photo Two)

As you might expect from those red flower heads, the plant contains a high concentration of betacyanins, which can be used as a dye. One variety is actually called ‘Hopi Red Dye’, after the Hopi tradition of creating red corn bread using the amaranth to colour it. If you have a garden full of love-lies-bleeding and wanted to have a bash at some dyeing, there is a lovely article here to send you on your way.

Incidentally, the food colouring called Amaranth was banned as a carcinogen in the US in 1976, but is still used to colour Maraschino cherries in the UK. It is named for the colour of the chemical but is not actually extracted from the plant, so we can breathe easy on that score.

Wool dyed with amaranth (PhotoThree)

The flowers on Love-lies-bleeding look so much like the millet that I used to feed to my budgerigar when I was a child that I’d be interested to know if any of you have grown members of this family and have noticed any bird activity.

The name ‘amaranth’ comes from the Greek for ‘not fading’ – it has long been a symbol of immortality, as in this translation of Aesop’s fable:

A Rose and an Amaranth blossomed side by side in a garden,
and the Amaranth said to her neighbour,
“How I envy you your beauty and your sweet scent!
No wonder you are such a universal favourite.”
But the Rose replied with a shade of sadness in her voice,
“Ah, my dear friend, I bloom but for a time:
my petals soon wither and fall, and then I die.
But your flowers never fade, even if they are cut;
for they are everlasting.”

Indeed, the mythological ‘Amaranth’ appears in the poetry of Milton, Shelley, Tennyson and others as a symbol of everlasting life, though I doubt that these poets would ever have seen a love-lies-bleeding.

In the Victorian language of flowers, the plant came to stand for ‘hopeless, undying love’.

Green love-lies-bleeding

And now a poem, and by William Wordsworth no less (I was tempted by Algernon Swinburne but it was a bit too florid even for me). Wordsworth comments that:

“How touching and beautiful were, in most instances, the names they gave to our indigenous flowers, or any other they were familiarly acquainted with! — Every month for many years have we been importing plants and flowers from all quarters of the globe, many of which are spread through our gardens, and some, perhaps, likely to be met with on the few Commons which we have left. Will their botanical names ever be displaced by plain English appellations, which will bring them home to our hearts by connection with our joys and sorrows?”

And I think he has a point. At what point will Buddleia, for example, get a ‘proper’ vernacular name (though it’s true that many people know it as Butterfly Bush). It seems that a plant hasn’t really ‘made it’ until it has a nickname. Maybe we could make some up.

Love Lies Bleeding

by William Wordsworth

You call it, Love lies bleeding, — so you may,
Though the red Flower, not prostrate, only droops,
As we have seen it here from day to day,
From month to month, life passing not away:
A flower how rich in sadness! Even thus stoops,
(Sentient by Grecian sculpture’s marvellous power)
Thus leans, with hanging brow and body bent
Earthward in uncomplaining languishment
The dying Gladiator. So, sad Flower!
(‘T is Fancy guides me willing to be led,
Though by a slender thread,)
So drooped Adonis bathed in sanguine dew
Of his death-wound, when he from innocent air
The gentlest breath of resignation drew;
While Venus in a passion of despair
Rent, weeping over him, her golden hair
Spangled with drops of that celestial shower.
She suffered, as Immortals sometimes do;
But pangs more lasting far, that Lover knew
Who first, weighed down by scorn, in some lone bower
Did press this semblance of unpitied smart
Into the service of his constant heart,
His own dejection, downcast Flower! could share
With thine, and gave the mournful name which thou wilt ever bear.

Photo Credits

Photo One By Abbie yang – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22558877

Photo Two By Xufanc – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10608050

Photo Three from https://lifewaysnorthamerica.org/living-arts-weekly-natural-dyeing/#:~:text=Use%20a%20solar%20dyeing%20process,sunny%20spot%20for%20a%20week.

1) Stag Beetle

Dear Readers, this week I only had one response to the quiz, but well done Rosalind, who got 15 out of sixteen – excellent stuff! Here are the answers, so see how well you did….

2) Silverfish

3) Mole  Cricket

4) Meadow Froghopper

5) Suffolk Antlion

6) Green Tiger Beetle

7) Devil’s coach-horse

8) Rhinoceros  beetle

9) CraneFly

10) Horse  Fly

11) Hornet  Hoverfly

12) Scorpion Fly

13) Swallowtail Butterfly

14) Peacock Butterfly

15) Elephant Hawk moth

Photo Credits

Photo One by https://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/2457161

Photo Two by Alvesgaspar / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

Photo Three by Tobias b köhler / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

Photo Four by Charles J Sharp / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

Photo Five by David Short from Windsor, UK / CC BY (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)

Photo Six by Bruce Marlin / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)

Photo Seven by Peter O’Connor aka anemoneprojectors from Stevenage, United Kingdom / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)

Photo Eight by Siga / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

Photo Nine by Björn S… / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)

Photo Ten by Muséum de Toulouse / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

Photo Eleven by Frank Vassen from Brussels, Belgium / CC BY (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)

Photo Twelve by Ian Kirk from Broadstone, Dorset, UK / CC BY (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)

Photo Thirteen by I, J.M.Garg / CC BY-SA (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)

Photo Fourteen by Lynne Kirton / Peacock butterfly (Inachis io)

Photo Fifteen by nick goodrum from Catfield in Norfolk, United Kingdom / CC BY (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)

Dear Readers, every year, at about the beginning of September, I have to prune the Buddleia in my front garden. It overhangs the road, so it can be very antisocial, especially when people are trying to socially-distance. This year it has been absolutely inundated with greenfly, poor thing, and the honeydew has attracted late-summer wasps, who have been having a wonderful time – in fact, I waited until after some heavy rain to tackle this job, for fear of the very real risk of being stung. But now it’s done, and what a job it was! For those of you worried about the plant, I can tell you that by the end of the autumn it will already be sprouting again, and by next summer it will probably have new growth about eight  feet long. Truly, there are few plants as vigorous as Buddleia davidii.

The Buddleia back in June

However, every act of pruning involves dislodging some happy predators. Lacewings flew off, ladybirds took to the wing, and I had to re-home a very splendid orb-web spider who had made a little house for herself in a folded leaf. How cosy she looked! I have popped her, complete with leaf, in amongst the lavender for now, and I have no doubt that she will be constructing a huge web somewhere inconvenient as I write.

European garden spider (Araneus diadematus)

But what surprised me most was the sheer number of Harlequin ladybird larvae. One even fell down the back of my neck.

Harlequin ladybird larva (Harmonia axyridis)

This menacing-looking larva is at least twice as big as other ladybird larvae, and is said to be outcompeting the UK’s native species, though I did also spot adult Seven-spot Ladybirds on the plant. I would hope that there was plenty for everyone this year, but in terms of aphid eradication, the Harlequin Ladybird has our native species beat hands down (which is one reason why it has been deliberately released as a biological control in many countries). In the seventeen days that it spends as a larva, the Adonis ladybird (Hippodamia variegata) eats about 100 aphids, compared with the 370 wolfed down by the hungry Harlequin in only ten days. Alas, in the absence of aphids the Harlequin will eat other ladybird larvae, the larvae of lacewings and hoverflies and even each other. However, even in native ladybird species there can be up to 80% mortality in the first few days after hatching if there are no aphids about, as the little darlings set about eating each other. Nothing in nature is ever straightforward. It seems that the Harlequin is here to stay, hibernating in our houses, patrolling our aphid-ridden Buddleias and even occasionally falling into our clothing. Although it comes in a wide variety of colours, it is much larger than other species, and also has a distinctive ‘dent’ at the base of each of the elytra (wing covers). If you live in the southern UK, or the warmer parts of North America, you will most likely have seen one.

The many forms of the Harlequin ladybird (Photo One)

Incidentally, some ladybird larvae have evolved not to eat the aphids themselves, and not even the honeydew that they produce, but the moulds that grow on the honeydew! The larva of the Twenty-four spot Ladybird (Subconccinella vigintiquattuorpunctata) lives on the mould that grows on false oat-grass. I learn something new every day.

Subcoccinella vigintiquatuorpunctata first instar larva (Photo Two)

So, with the cutting back of the Buddleia there’s a definite sense of autumn on the way. I am planting up some pots of sedum and asters to compensate for the end of summer’s bounty, pulling the weed out of the pond, and starting to rake up the leaves. On Friday, I’m off to buy some bulbs for next spring. What a strange year it’s been, but the routines of the garden remind us that some things, at least, continue as always.

Photo Credits

Photo One By ©entomart In case of publication or commercial use, Entomart wishes then to be warned (http://www.entomart.be/contact.html), but this without obligation. Thank you., Attribution, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=815107

Photo Two By Gilles San Martin – Subcoccinella vigintiquatuorpunctata first instar larva, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11002359

Other Credits

Information on Harlequin Ladybirds from Beetles by Richard Jones in the New Naturalist series, highly recommended.

1) ____ Beetle

Dear Readers, we had so much fun with the beastly plants last week that I thought we’d have a go with some beastly invertebrates this week. All you have to do is to find the creature that completes the name of the ‘bug’ in the photo. So, if you think photo one is of an antelope beetle, that’s your answer to number 1! Simple! All the invertebrates are found in the UK, though some of them are more unusual than others. I’m always surprised at the sheer variety of small beasties there are to spot in our gardens.

I have found some really great photos for us this week – photo credits will be included with the answers on Tuesday.

Please note that number 15 has not one but two other creatures in its name, so your total score will be out of 16.

As usual, pop your answers into the comments before 5 p.m. on Monday UK time if you want me to mark your attempt. Some people are extremely speedy, so if you don’t want to be influenced by those who came before, write your answers down first (and throw away your Tipp-ex and eraser 🙂 ).

Have fun!

2) Silver____

3) ____ Cricket

4) Meadow ____hopper

5) Suffolk ___lion

6) Green _____ Beetle

7) Devil’s coach-_____

8) __________ beetle

9) _____ Fly

10) _____ Fly

11) ______ Hoverfly

12) ________ Fly

13) _______tail Butterfly

14) _______ Butterfly

15) ________ ____moth

Dear Readers, Coppett’s Wood is a tiny nature reserve tucked away between the North Circular Road, a coach garage and a Tesco Superstore. I have lived in this area for over ten years and it’s the first time that I’ve visited, although it’s only a 20 minute bus ride away. Once upon a time, the wood was part of the extensive Finchley Common, which was the haunt of so many highwaymen that Sir Gilbert Elliot, Earl of Minto, said in a letter to his wife that he would not “trust my throat on Finchley Common after dark”. In 1725 two highwaymen went as far as to draw up a contract in which they agreed to split the proceeds of their ‘highway robbery’ between them, although one of the highwaymen later contested this in court. There was a gibbet at the corner of Lincoln Road, just a few roads up from where I live, until the 1780s.

As we walked through Coppett’s Wood earlier this week, it struck me that a current day highwayman could probably do rather well here today: the understorey is much better developed than in my local Coldfall and Cherry Tree Woods, and the path meanders so that you can’t see who is around the next corner, causing us to give quite a shock to a poor young woman out running with her husky. I note that one of the criteria for a Green Flag Award, given to parks and other green spaces, is that there should be clear sightlines so that people can feel safe. However, I suspect that Coppett’s Wood is probably richer in biodiversity than our wood, and that would be because of the greater variety of habitats. There’s always a balance to be trod between safety and conservation, and while this place may look like a place where bad things could happen, I have never read anything in the newspapers to indicate that this is a serious concern. Plus, once you’re away from the scrubland and into the wood, it becomes a bit more open.

Before anyone thinks I’m being a bit of a wimp by talking about how safe a wild area feels, I’d like to mention that, as a young woman of nineteen years old, I was attacked by a man in the woods above Winchester. Fortunately, I was able to get away before anything too serious happened, but for a time it made me hypervigilant and absolutely terrified of being outside on my own. I know that I’m not the only person that this has happened to, and my heart goes out to those whose experiences had more serious consequences. Not everyone can stride through green spaces without a care in the world, and not everyone that you meet is harmless. In the end, my absolute passion for the natural world and my instinctive sense that, for me, healing was only possible by getting out there and paying attention to plants and animals was what walked me out of the door when I was afraid and didn’t want to go.

The gleam of sunlight on leaves, the sound of bees, the glimpse of a bird flitting through the branches has saved my sanity and calmed my grief and fear more times than I can say.

Path through the scrubland and into the wood

The wood itself

But, back to Coppett’s Wood. While the wooded area is the usual hornbeam and oak, there are lots of apple trees in the less shaded areas, and I wonder if this could have anything to do with the fact that in a previous incarnation, the scrubland abutting the wood was a sewage farm.

One of many apple trees.

Near the Colney Hatch Lane entrance, there is supposed to be a pond, and I spent twenty minutes scrambling through the undergrowth looking for it. Alas, I couldn’t find it, and I wonder if it’s seasonal. There was a splendid Emperor Dragonfly hawking above the path though, and although these creatures are often spotted some distance from water, it made me wonder if there had been something there previously.

There is a fabulous crop of teasel, which likes damp soil, so maybe the pond is normally around here. I know the goldfinches will be delighted.

I am always very taken with how magical the heads of the umbellifers look at this time of year too.

And what a bumper crop of hips and haws there have been this year too! There is lots of Midland hawthorn in the wooded areas, and dog rose everywhere.

During WW2, Coppett’s Wood was used for tank and gas mask testing, and there are lots of miscellaneous concrete items left in the wood. I have no idea if these are actually WW2-related, or pipes from the sewage works, or indeed some other manifestation of the area’s history. Spiders seem to have made themselves at home in many of them, so they certainly have their uses.

I enjoyed our expedition to Coppett’s Wood – it’s always a delight to find a little patch of wildness so close to home, and I was even more impressed when I got home and found out that it’s the only London site for Lesser Water Plantain (Baldellia ranunculoides), so it’s even more of a shame that I couldn’t find the pond. Maybe next time I’ll go in winter, when the leaves will be down and any landscape features will be a bit more obvious. And here’s to exploring our local areas, which are often full of fragmentary green spaces that go unvisited because, pre-pandemic, we were visiting bigger, flashier sites elsewhere. I see from the London Borough of Barnet website that there are over 60 local nature reserves listed for this borough alone. Who knows what else I might find?

Lesser Water Plantain (Baldellia Ranunculoides) (Photo One)