The start of the year had been very wet with February having only two rain free days, according to my records. In the fourth week of that month, though, when the forecast was for a dry, sunny day, we knew we had to get outside so we drove to the coast where Hazel could have a walk, and I could look for wildlife. Our choice was Roundham Head in Paignton (see picture at the head of this post), a rocky promontory that protrudes into the semicircular sweep of Torbay. Public gardens were built here on the south facing side of the promontory in the 1930s. Zig zag paths now meander up and down the headland between sheltered borders and with the mild south facing maritime microclimate this is a place filled with flowers even in winter months.
The edge of one of the paths on Roundham Head with rosemary and coronilla valentina (scorpion vetch)
The first border I came across, with bergenia and coronilla valentina (scorpion vetch)
When we arrived, the sea looked rather grey, and the sun came and went as cloud occasionally got the upper hand. The first border I came across was fringed thickly with the green leathery leaves and bright pink trumpet shaped flowers of bergenia. This seemed like a good place to start so I looked around the flowers for insects but, not having found anything, I was about to give up when suddenly a large bumblebee gave me a surprise by flying closely by me. Encouraged by this, I continued looking and found another large bumblebee moving about purposefully, sometimes disappearing among the maze of red stems and pink flowers (picture below). The yellow and white banding pattern and size of this insect were characteristic of a buff-tailed bumblebee queen (Bombus terrestris). When I came back here later I found another two queens.
Paths leading away from this first border were sheltered by tall walls lined by clumps of the bright yellow flowers of Coronilla valentina (scorpion vetch) a native of the Mediterranean (see pictures above). This grows profusely around Torbay, especially in these gardens where its sunny colour predominates, flowering in early spring providing forage for any insects about. That day, I saw several small bumblebees foraging from the yellow blooms with lumps of pollen accumulating on their back legs. Their plumage indicated that they were also buff-tailed bumblebees and as they were small and collecting pollen, they were workers.
Looking about the gardens, I also found several stands of rosemary filling sheltered borders and cascading down the wall below, like a thick curtain. Pale blue flowers covered the rosemary cascade and more worker buff-tails were taking advantage of this resource.
The queens I saw had most likely emerged recently from hibernation and were feeding and acclimatising to the conditions before setting up new nests. It seemed surprising, though, to also see pollen-laden workers so early in the season. Most likely these were collecting pollen and nectar for an active nest with a queen. These nests would have been set up in the autumn and continued over winter. There is plenty of evidence for winter active nests of buff-tailed bumblebees at Roundham Head so this is no surprise. Winter active nests of this species are also seen in other places where there are mild conditions combined with floral resources available over winter.
bergenia with a buff-tailed bumblebee queen
coronilla valentina (scorpion vetch) with a worker buff-tailed bumblebee carrying pollen
a worker buff-tailed bumblebee foraging on rosemary
This was a surprise: some spurge (sea spurge?) had self-seeded and grown in one of the borders and a worker buff-tailed bumblebee was foraging and collecting pollen
By late December, the trees around the community garden were mostly leafless. Their leaves now littered the ground creating a mosaic of shades of brown occasionally rearranged by winds. Leafless, though, did not mean featureless. The branches of a tall hawthorn were richly decorated with plump, claret-coloured berries that glinted in the low sunshine and the nearby crab apple sported groups of small round fruit resembling reddish Christmas baubles. Bare branches of a guelder rose held clumps of berries of a surprisingly luminous bright red as if lit from inside (picture at the head of this post). These berries and fruits, formed earlier this year, will provide a well-stocked larder for birds seeking food in winter (more pictures at the end of this post).
It wasn’t all looking back, though, and there were clear signs of the forthcoming season. Leafless hazel stems carried many small, thin, pale green, finger-like growths. These are immature male catkins that will gradually increase in size to form the familiar yellow lambs’ tails ready to cast pollen on to passing breezes; some have already matured in nearby private gardens. Just above the male catkins on the bare branches, a few scaly buds were opening to display small dark red female flowers, often likened to tiny sea anemones. Wind-blown pollen reaching these female flowers from other hazel trees will begin the process of fertilisation and nut formation.
Towards the rear of the garden was a large stand of winter honeysuckle, an unruly twiggy mass liberally sprinkled with pairs of creamy white flowers each with two petals, one smaller and one larger. Emerging from the petals were several long stamens, their ends coated thickly with pale yellow pollen. These flowers are a magnet for insects still about at this time of year, especially on sunny days when I saw a few flies and several hoverflies and bumblebees.
The hoverflies (mostly the marmalade hoverfly, Episyrphus balteatus) with their stripy abdomens (silver, black and orange) moved noiselessly about the bush before landing deftly on flowers to feed. The bumblebees (buff-tailed bumblebees, Bombus terrestris) moved quickly from flower to flower buzzing loudly, seemingly hanging from flowers to feed on nectar and to collect pollen that accumulated in sticky lumps on their back legs. These bumblebee workers with their characteristic yellow, white and black hair bands must be supporting a queen that has set up a winter-active colony rather than go into hibernation. Winter-active colonies are a relatively recent phenomenon in the UK, thought to result from warmer winters, the presence of flowers supplying pollen and nectar, and the relative adaptability of Bombus terrestris.
Hawthorn berries
Crab apples. With the mild wet autumn many have already begun to decay
Hazel catkins – the finger-like entities are the immature male catkins and just above each cluster are the tiny red female flowers.
Marmalade hoverfly (Episyrphus balteatus) on winter honeysuckle
Buff-tailed bumblebee worker (Bombus terrestris). Note the pollen she is carrying on her back legs and the way she hangs from the winter honeysuckle flower,
The ivy on our neighbour’s gate post showing the pale flower heads
I was standing in our street, enjoying the gentle warmth of the late September morning sun but I wasn’t alone. Nearby, a large clump of ivy covering the top of our neighbour’s gatepost was alive with insects. For much of the year this ivy is dominated by shiny dark green leaves but from late summer, the woody climber throws up many pale green flower heads mostly from the upper part of the clump. The flower heads soften the look of the ivy and mature into spherical umbels of 20 or so florets, each loaded with nectar and pollen and emitting a sickly-sweet fragrance. This rich source of forage acts as a magnet for insects especially at a time when many flowering plants are shutting down.
A female ivy bee on the ivy flowers, note the pollen collecting on her back legs
When the sun shone, I saw many hoverflies, mostly drone fly (Eristalis) species, some common wasps, a few honeybees and bumblebees and the occasional red admiral butterfly on the ivy flowers but I was hoping for something else. And suddenly there it was, an insect about the size of a honeybee but with a shock of reddish, pale brown hair across the thorax and bright yellow bands around its black abdomen as it tapers to a point. It was also carrying large amounts of chrome yellow ivy pollen on its back legs as if it had collected sunshine (see picture above and at the head of this post). This smart insect is an ivy bee (Colletes hederae), a relative newcomer to the UK, first spotted in Dorset 24 years ago, but now seen across much of England and Wales. Ivy bees are solitary species that emerge in early autumn roughly in synchrony with flowering ivy. Mated females nest in aggregations in friable soil and I saw increasing numbers of the bees over the next few days gathering pollen and nectar from the ivy. This felt like an increase over previous years and I wondered if there were nests nearby although finding them is a matter of luck.
I took photos of the ivy bees and one photo delivered a surprise. This photo contained an ivy bee as intended but also, nearby on another leaf, was a very different insect. It had a bright green abdomen about 1.5 cm long with a prominent brown stripe along its back, very long green legs and antennae more than twice the body length of the creature. This was a speckled bush cricket a flightless insect that consumes leaves from various plants. In daytime they like to bask unseen among vegetation in sunshine, as was this one.
The speckled bush cricket basking on an ivy leaf (a better photo would have shown the speckles that decorate the insect) Clicking on the picture to enlarge it will allow the very long antennae to be seen. The photo has been cropped to remove the ivy bee.
Ivy in early autumn can be a paradise for insects but it’s not an entirely safe one. In the low autumn sunshine, strands of spider web strung across the top of the ivy stood out like telegraph wires and later I saw a spider catch a fly and kill the unfortunate insect. Given the mass of insects that frequent the ivy at this time of year, it is hardly surprising to find spiders taking advantage of this bounty.
The mass of insects on the ivy also helps pollination of the ivy flowers. Each pollinated floret produces a round black berry, a rich food source for hungry birds in winter.
Spider and prey (there may be two spiders or one and part of another in the picture along with the fly prey, see comments below)
Two bumblebees on an ivy flower umbel. The upper is a tree bumblebee (Bombus hypnorum) the lower probably a buff-tailed bumblebee (Bombus terrestris)
It was mid-June before I noticed the ragwort. I came across the plant growing in one of the old passageways, the narrow paths lined by old stone walls that criss-cross the older, southern part of Totnes. Ragwort is an opportunist, able to colonise almost barren places, and there were at least two plants, one or more growing out of the top of the wall and another from the junction between the wall and the path. Both plants were already quite tall with thick green stems and finely divided leaves, each stem topped by a mass of immature flowers exhibiting hints of yellow. I found several more plants in our street including one tall specimen growing from the pavement near the wall outside a house. This example sported a large cluster of mature, bright yellow, daisy-like flowers (see picture at the head of this post), with insects coming and going taking advantage of this rich forage source.
Mature ragwort plants growing out of the top of a wall. The plants are about a metre tall.
Later that day, my wife Hazel told me she had seen a moth, bright red and black, near the ragwort in our road. She thought it was a cinnabar moth, linked strongly to the plant. Two days later, she saw another moth of the same species in the same place. She has an impressive and uncanny knack of spotting wildlife so I decided to go out myself to look for the moths, hoping that some of her stardust might rub off on me.
I didn’t see any of the moths near the ragwort in our street but when I went to look at the plants in the old passageway, I was in luck. As I approached the ragwort growing from the wall, a bright red and black moth fluttered away disturbed by my arrival and I had a brief sighting of a second. The first moth settled among the plants that form a loose covering of the wall allowing me to take some photos that confirmed this was a cinnabar moth.
Cinnabar moth showing the red and black markings (the sun was very bright that day reducing the impact of the colours)
the same cinnabar moth but in a less sunny position showing more realistic colours
At this time of year, cinnabar moths have recently emerged from pupae to mate. The mated females then lay eggs on the underside of ragwort leaves. The eggs hatch into larvae which go through several stages developing into caterpillars, with distinctive black and yellow stripes. The caterpillars feed by eating the ragwort plants before digging themselves into the soil to spin a cocoon, overwinter and pupate, emerging the following year as an adult moth.
I thought it should be possible to see the moth eggs at this time of year if I looked carefully so I went to investigate the ragwort near where the moths had been spotted. I looked under several leaves but was unable to find any eggs. This may have been because I was already too late as when I first looked, there were one or two small larvae on one plant and a few days later, some of the leaves on the same plant were covered in masses of small caterpillars. Presumably there had been mass hatching of eggs and based on their yellowish colouration, these were early-stage larvae. They matured quite quickly as when I returned five days later, the caterpillars were fully grown with black and yellow stripes. They had also dispersed consuming much of the plant as they went and leaving just the bare green skeleton. The other plants in the passageway were also being consumed by larvae and in a few days all the ragwort plants there were skeletal.
the upper part of one ragwort plant showing the immature flowers and the dense clusters of immature cinnabar caterpillars
the mature black and yellow cinnabar caterpillars have spread out and consumed large parts of the plant
there is not much of the plant left by now, just the main and some side stems and some of the caterpillars have clustered on the remains of a side shoot that they are gradually consuming
another picture showing the remnants of a plant with caterpillars
Ragwort with its yellow flowers is an attractive plant lighting up our summer as well as being an important source of pollen and nectar for a wide range of insects. The plant has, though, acquired an aura of danger and some people believe ragwort should be removed wherever it appears. It is undoubtedly dangerous for horses and cattle, causing severe liver damage and death if consumed. If ragwort grows in their fields, horses avoid the plant and don’t eat it but should ragwort get into hay for winter feed, this can be fatal. For this reason, ragwort often suffers from systematic “pulling” of plants growing on farmland.
a faded common carder bee (Bombus pascuorum) feeding from ragwort flowers
There is some concern that ragwort is also poisonous for humans but the risk seems to have been overblown and it would be necessary to eat large quantities for harm to occur. Removal of the plant apparently to protect humans still occurs unnecessarily but judging from the speed with which the cinnabar caterpillars consumed the plants I saw, allowing nature to take its course might better. It would also allow this important insect food to flower. To read more about these issues, click here and here.
Putting aside the controversial aspects of ragwort, a stand of the plant with its sunny yellow flowers is an impressive sight. The 18th century poet, John Clare, was inspired by the plant and expressed many of its beauties in his poem “The Ragwort”. Here is part of the poem:
Ragwort, thou humble flower with tattered leaves I love to see thee come and litter gold, What time the summer binds her russet sheaves; Decking rude spots in beauties manifold, That without thee were dreary to behold
The poet and essayist Edward Thomas, was also impressed by the plant. He wrote about how, one summer, he came across ragwort on the Sussex Downs:
There a myriad oriflammes of ragwort are borne up on tall stems of equal height, straight and motionless, and near at hand quite clear, but farther away forming a green mist until, farther yet, all but the flowery surface is invisible, and that is but a glow. (South Country 1909)
I was intrigued and puzzled by this description, partly as I hadn’t heard the term oriflamme before. Apparently, the oriflamme refers to the sacred flag of the Kings of France used to lead soldiers into battle in the Middle Ages. I had some difficulty appreciating this metaphor especially when I read that the oriflamme was blood red and attached to a gilded lance. Then recently, we drove to Torquay, and in many places by the roadside, I saw ragwort plants, their bright yellow heads on tall narrow stems, like flags on poles. I realised I had been too literal and began to see what Thomas had been thinking.
Extending his metaphor, I remembered some years ago going to the WOMAD Festival in Reading where one of my abiding memories, apart from the music, were the many rows of colourful flags on long poles, another myriad oriflammes. Click here to see some pictures.
We drove down to the coast in bright sunshine, between verges gloriously full of flowers, dominated by the white of cow parsley but occasionally splashed pink with campion and foxglove. Roadside hawthorn trees were full with blossom, their thick coating of creamy flowers encapsulating all the unfettered growth of spring.
Tantalising glimpses of azure water early in the journey merged into a full sea view as we dipped down towards Bantham, a small village on one side of the estuary of the river Avon close to where it meets the sea. Here there is a popular sandy beach backed by extensive sand dunes, and a short distance off shore lies Burgh Island with its iconic art deco hotel (picture at the head of this post). Bantham is also the premier surfing beach on the south Devon coast. This is a beautiful, relatively unspoilt place.
The tide was high when we arrived and the car park behind the beach nearly empty. The surfers would be arriving later as the tide fell creating better sea conditions. A few white butterflies moved about the scrub at the car park edge and from a nearby grassy field, I heard the “cronk” of a raven. Not a bad spot to sit and drink our coffee.
Hazel wanted a longer walk and set off along the coast to the east whereas I walked up on to the Ham, a tongue of grassland set behind the dunes overlooking a final bend of the river Avon. A meadow here is supposed to be managed for species-rich grassland and I had hoped to see plenty of flowers and corresponding wildlife. Red campion and bladder campion grew by the paths and there were some stands of elderflower but the meadow itself was a disappointment. Low growing flowers like speedwells and bird’s foot trefoil were evident but by the third week of May a meadow should be rich in native grasses and flowers and this was not. I looked particularly at the bird’s foot trefoil for insects but drew a blank. It looked as though the meadow had been cut rather late in spring, probably unnecessarily, removing many of the spring flowers and grasses.
I walked on towards the sea along paths lined by ivy. In the autumn, these will be thronged with ivy bees, bumblebees and wasps taking advantage of the late season forage when the ivy comes in to flower, but for now all was quiet. Some seaside specialists such as thrift grew where the path reached the edge of the low cliffs above the beach but there were few other flowers and still no insects despite this mild coastal environment. From the cliffs, though, there was a striking view of Burgh Island including a neatly planted group of a pinkish purple non-native wild gladiolus in the foreground (see picture at the head of this post).
The huge stand of kidney vetch
I decided to walk inland to access the sandy dune path to head back towards the car park. The dunes either side of the path are an arid environment and I hadn’t expected to see many flowers but there was one exception. By the edge of the sandy path was a huge stand of kidney vetch covered in lemon yellow flowers nestling in their white, woolly cushions. Many of the flowers looked very fresh, and finally here were some insects taking advantage of this rich source of forage.
There was one largish bumblebee moving about the flowers. It looked superficially like a common carder bee (Bombus pascuorum), a species I see regularly. I could also see several smaller bees coming and going from the clump. I was unable to identify these by eye so I took as many photos as the insects would allow, to help with identification.
When I looked at the photos on a larger screen at home, I got some surprises. The bumblebee did not have the typical markings of a common carder. The abdomen was covered in yellowish hairs and I wondered if this was one of the rarer carder bees. I don’t feel experienced enough to make that decision so I asked an expert (Matt Smith) who identified the insect as a brown banded carder bee (B. humilis), a rare species for the south Devon coast. This species was “rediscovered” in 2022 a few miles along the coast, not having been seen in south Devon since 1978. My observation supports the idea that there may be a small surviving population in the area.
Lemon yellow kidney vetch flowers with the bumblebee. The wooly white flower cushions can also be seen here.
Another shot of the bumblebee showing its yellowish abdominal hairs
The smaller bees also provided a surprise. Examination on a larger screen highlighted the golden bands around the abdomen and the general reddish tinge of the rest of the insect. These are the characteristics of gold-fringed mason bees (Osmia aurulenta), another nationally scarce insect but more common on the coast, especially in sandy areas. These are fascinating creatures, solitary bees where the mated females build nests in old snail shells.
A gold-fringed mason bee on kidney vetch
The photos also showed two other insects on the vetch that I hadn’t noticed, a hairy shield bug and a swollen-thighed beetle. (see pictures below)
Both of the rare bee species I saw are typically found on sandy areas, often but not always near the coast. They both like to forage on vetches such as kidney vetch and bird’s foot trefoil so the stand of kidney vetch and the dunes at Bantham are ideal for the species. It would be good to know if there is more kidney vetch growing on the dunes but large parts of these are cordoned off for conservation purposes. Deliberately encouraging kidney vetch would help support these rare insects.
This brings me back to the meadow and its disappointing lack of flowers. It would not be difficult to increase the number of insects here by managing the meadow flowers better. This would also have the effect of supporting the local bird population. The two rare bee species I saw would benefit from allowing the bird’s foot trefoil in the meadow to grow into larger plants by more thoughtful mowing and encouraging it to grow elsewhere. Deliberate sowing with a suitable wildflower seed mix or by planting plug plants might also improve matters.
My observations underline what a special place Bantham is, but it needs careful nurturing to encourage the non-human world to prosper. The ownership of the Bantham Estate changed hands earlier this year and this may affect how the meadow and the dunes are managed.
Hairy shield bug on kidney vetch
The dune path as it descends to the car park with a splash of red valerian on the left
Leaves lay by the side of the road as I walked down to reach the lane I have been visiting for the past few months. A large sycamore tree across from our house was the source of the roadside decoration and a few more leaves fell as I paused to look. Many of the leaves lay flat on the wet road, here they were mainly a uniform dark brown, well on their way to forming a slippery leafy sludge. Some, though, stood out, their greens, yellows and pale browns caught in the morning light, each leaf exhibiting a different pattern, each expressing a different personality.(see picture at the head of this post)
Further along, some uncultivated land contained all that was left of a group of umbellifers, probably hogweed. Their skeletal remains stood in a vague row, pale brown traceries of dry stems and flower heads, some still holding lozenge-shaped seed pods.
The mid-October sunshine that morning was welcome but deceptive. Recent weather had been very wet and when I reached the lane, the track and surrounding trees still showed evidence of the previous day’s rain. I pressed on up the lane, still mostly green but with a few hints of seasonal change, some curling browning leaves, plumes of bright colour on other trees and one a striking overall yellow. The track itself was quite muddy and strewn with increasing numbers of fallen leaves (photos below). By the side of the path there were a few flecks of pink from campion and herb robert flowers, now looking rather sad. One white bindweed flower stood out, home briefly for a foraging bumblebee.
I stopped to listen to the sounds of the morning: water running in the stream that follows the valley bottom, leaves rustling as a gentle breeze passed, the occasional flick as another leaf fell from one of the trees, some birdsong including the insistent trill of a wren and later the mewing of a buzzard circling overhead. Also, although it’s not a sound, almost below the level of conscious detection I thought I could smell the odour of decay.
the fern-lined green tree-lined tunnel
The green tree-lined tunnel was dark, dank, and muddy with ferns dominating as always but I saw plants growing here that I had previously overlooked probably because there had been so much else to see. Spiky, glossy, green holly grew in several places as did hawthorn; ivy crept surreptitiously across any surface it could find. There were, though, some new emergences. Wall pennywort pushed its slender stems and small dimpled leaves through the soil banks in several places. The leaves will grow gradually and cover some areas next spring. Also, on the soil banks was a creeping plant with opposing pairs of oval, fleshy green leaves. This is opposite leaved golden saxifrage a plant of dark, wet places and it will flower early in the new year. Extensive mats of this plant grew further along the lane in the very wet areas. Both the pennywort and saxifrage featured in my March walk when fully grown so, as the year moves on, we are beginning to see annual cycles. (photos below)
Beyond the green tunnel, the track became a conduit for water running off nearby fields following the recent heavy rains. Among the trees lining this very wet path was a large holly bush, distinguished by splashes of reddening berries. I wonder how long these will last? Will the birds take them or will they go for early Christmas decorations? Interestingly, this holly had many non-spiky leaves unlike others seen earlier. Spikiness in holly leaves seems to be a natural variant and some say that leaves become spiky to deter grazing animals. There are deer about in the nearby woods but I can’t see why this particular bush would be spared animal damage.
Further on, I came to a sunny clearing, lined by brambles earlier in the year but now dominated by two huge spreads of ivy scrambling over trees. The ivy was covered in flowers and their distinctive sweet odour perfumed the air. It attracted many insects, mostly wasps. I searched in vain for ivy bees but with the recent poor weather, the ivy bee season seems to be over.
The ivy flowers are contained in umbels of 20 or so individual flowers arranged in an almost perfectly spherical array. Each flower shows five-fold symmetry in the arrangement of its sepals and stamens. The anthers are exposed on the surface of the sphere so that the umbels appear yellow at a glance. I can’t help but marvel at these examples of the beauty contained in the non-human world.
An umbel of ivy flowers with a marmalade hoverfly. Note the five fold symmetry of the individual flowers, the spherical nature of the umbel with anthers around its surface,
While I was gazing, a pretty hoverfly with bands of black, yellow and silver-grey along its abdomen landed to feed from the ivy. This was Episyrphus balteatus, also known as the marmalade hoverfly. This odd name is said to derive from the thick and thin black bands on the body of the fly which remind some people of the thick and thin cuts of fruit in marmalade. I also see the yellow and silver-grey bands and think of the golden shred and silver shred marmalades made from oranges and lemons respectively.
One last thing. When I stopped earlier to listen to the natural sounds of the morning, I was surprised to hear another noise, one that I recognised as a train hauled by a steam engine and coming from the other side of town. The noise from the engine increased to reach a peak when it blew its whistle before the sound gradually died away. There is a heritage steam railway, the South Devon Railway, with its terminus in Totnes and I presume that this train had just left the station. We don’t normally hear the sounds of these steam trains so the particular atmospheric conditions must have been favourable that morning.
leaves along the lane
wall pennywort leaves, some tiny, pushing through the soil bank
Opposite-leaved golden saxifrage leaves, spotted with rain water. These are the basal leaves from which flowers will grow in spring.
holly bush with red berries and mostly non spiky leaves
It’s the middle of September and the morning starts with a cloud free, translucent blue sky. It’s not a summer light, though, and when I look out of the back windows of our house a pale mist hangs low to the north east roughly charting the course of the river as it snakes though the town. For a short time, the mist takes on a pink tinge from the sun rising behind the eastern hills. The effect is short lived and when the sun appears above the hills, it spreads a bright light across the trees in the valley below our house highlighting the clear signs of autumn in the yellow leaves now covering the silver birch trees.
Later that morning, I walk down our road to reach the lane I have been visiting over the past few months. The air is warm with bright sunshine as I walk along the road and a large stand of honeysuckle in a nearby passageway is trying to hang on to summer. It’s sweetly fragrant and full of life with a white butterfly and several common carder bumblebees flittering about the flowers.
The same cannot be said for the lane which is cool and dark and still showing signs of the severe cutting it suffered a few weeks ago. The lane runs roughly southwards but on its eastern side, the land rises steeply and there are many trees. At this time of year, the sun is in the east and quite low in the sky so that its light mostly fails to reach the lower parts of the lane and the green tree-lined tunnel.
In a few places, the trees do allow the sun to penetrate like a searchlight, creating aerial pools of brightness, highlighting parts of the path and nearby vegetation. In one of these pools of light I notice several yellowish insects flying about or basking on illuminated leaves, enjoying the warmth. There are at least three similar individuals and photos taken while they bask identify them as hoverflies (photo below). I watch them hanging in the air sometimes hovering one behind the other, each a small yellow blur, each aware of the others. Sometimes they appear to be looking in my direction, are they aware of me or am I imagining this? Perhaps they are simply aware of a large new object in their vicinity and need to update their internal map?
There are few clear signs of autumn along the lane. Some brown leaves litter the track, the beginning of the crunchy multicoloured carpet that will form here in a few weeks’ time. It is more the absences that speak of autumn, especially the near complete absence of flowers. Of those still left, the cyclamen are showing well and in increased numbers and in a sunny clearing, I come across an umbellifer having put on new growth, most likely hogweed at this time of year. Its attractive white flowers are proving popular with common wasps (photo below). Here and there, bindweed clambers across vegetation with its white trumpets showing and one of these flowers has attracted a pretty, well-marked hoverfly, Meliscaeva cinctella (photo below). I watch it for a while but eventually it has enough of me and flies off.
There is, though, one plant that makes up for the dearth of flowers at this time of year and that is ivy. This climber grows prolifically in several places along the lane but for most of the year it remains an understated, slightly sinister presence concealed by its dark green shiny leaves. As autumn approaches its personality changes and it cloaks itself in pale green flower heads each containing many small flowers (photo below). Each flower eventually opens exposing five yellow pollen-loaded stamens. The flowers are a rich, late season, source of pollen and nectar for insects and will eventually mature into black berries, important food for winter birds.
I found ivy growing in the early part of the lane with some flowers open attracting common wasps and, in the sunny clearing, there is a huge bank of the plant covered in flowers still to open. Along the minor road I follow to walk home, however, I found a bank of ivy in the front of a private garden. Many flowers were open and the bush audibly buzzed with insects in the warm sunshine, mostly common wasps and hoverflies. The flowers also emitted a sickly sweet odour, the plant’s way of attracting insects and among these were a few brightly striped bees carrying lumps of yellow pollen on their back legs. These are ivy bees (Colletes hederae, see photo at the head of this post and below), the last solitary bee to emerge in the UK each year and a clear sign of the changing season. I was pleased to see them as I have had few sightings of these insects so far in Totnes this year. With their rich pale brown-haired thorax and bright yellow-banded abdomen they carry reminders of the autumn leaves to fall and the sunshine of summer.
To round off this autumn themed story, I want to mention a poster I saw that day pinned to a wooden post at the start of the lane. The poster (see photo below) was advertising the “Mabon Equinox, Bardic Ceremony” to take place in a woodland glade near Dartington at the coming weekend.
The autumn equinox, one of two similar occasions each year when daytime and nighttime hours are roughly the same, took place on September 22 marking the astronomical start of autumn. Days get increasingly shorter after this equinox as we move towards the dark days of winter and perhaps that’s why so little is said about the autumn event.
The Mabon Equinox is a modern pagan version of a ceremony held to celebrate the abundance of the final harvest and to give thanks for our blessings and personal achievements. Some also see Mabon as a time to connect with nature and its cycles. Connecting with nature and its cycles might do us all a bit of good and we might appreciate more clearly our dependence on the rhythms of the non-human world.
Autumn leaves
One of the hoverflies I saw in a pool of sunshine. With its wings covering the markings I found this difficult to identify but an expert told me that it was Episyrphus balteatus, known as the marmalade hoverfy,
A common wasp on the umbellifer (probably hogweed)
Hoverfly (Melicaeva cinctella) on bindweed
Ivy growing in the front of a house along a minor road showing the flower heads with their small flowers. The flowers are mostly not open in this view. A common wasp and an ivy bee are visible in this image. The picture below shows some open flowers on the same stand of ivy
An ivy bee feeding from ivy flowers. The open flowers with stamens are visible in this picture.
The back of our house looks north across a valley towards St Mary’s Church in Totnes. Several mature trees grow in the valley each with its own personality of shape and colour. I often gaze at the trees watching how they change with the seasons, also looking for the birds that move furtively among their branches. One morning in the third week of August I looked out and noticed that the overall green of one of the tall silver birch trees was starting to be flecked with yellow. A nearby sweet chestnut tree was also dotted with pale green spiky spheres, the large seed capsules of the tree. Were these the early signs of autumn? After all, the weather had been very changeable with rain and cooler temperatures and people had begun to talk about seasons changing.
If these were the early signs of autumn, I wondered how this would be reflected in the lane I had been visiting over the past few months? All was not what I had expected though when I reached the lane. The first section had been cut back, vegetation on both sides of the track mowed down and overhanging branches hacked off. There was very little left and any late season flowers had been destroyed. A few large white trumpets of bindweed had survived and some white snowberry fruits were also visible (photos below). The large burdock bush that I have mentioned several times before had been mostly cut down but a few flower heads had survived, some with their purple brush of florets (photo below), attracting a bee or two. Some seed heads (2-3cm across) covered in their hook-tipped bracts were maturing. These hooked bracts allow the dry seed heads to stick to animal fur, potentially distributing their seed but they will also stick to clothing. The mature seed heads are often called burrs and, as a child, I remember throwing them at other children to stick to clothing or even hair. It is also said that the inventor of Velcro was inspired by the stickiness of burrs.
Some burdock flower heads, one with florets the other two maturing towards burrs. Note the hooked bracts covering the flower heads
It was a shock to find the lane so heavily strimmed but I wasn’t surprised that it had happened, humans do the oddest things. Presumably, someone had been concerned with keeping the path clear, unimpeded for walkers and dogs, but the effects on the non-human world are likely to be profound, taking away much needed late season food for insects and birds. It really wasn’t necessary to cut the lane in this way, surely the human and non-human worlds can learn to live together and understand one another’s needs?
Thankfully, the green tree-tunnel was intact and remained an enticing mixture of gloom and dappled light. Ferns dominated the sides of the path, their fronds hanging gracefully downwards as if this were an elegant Victorian parlour. In a couple of places, as I walked gradually upwards, I came across shocks of colour that stood out like street lights in the dark. First was a spear of shiny bright orange-red berries glowing among the leaf clitter on the sides of the track (see picture at the head of this post). This was the fruit of cuckoo pint, the end result of the weird pollination mechanism of this plant. Further on, peeping out from behind the shiny dark green leaves of hart’s tongue ferns were some cyclamen flowers, brilliant white with a slight pink tinge. This is the autumn flowering cyclamen listed as a wild flower in the UK but also popular with gardeners.
cyclamen flower
I emerged from the green tunnel to a path thickly lined by leafy trees and shrubs lending varying degrees of light and shade. There were few flowers about and the only one in quantity was herb Robert, a creeping, clambering plant liberally studded with small pink starry blooms, some of its leaves now a bright red. This is so common in the wild and also a prolific garden weed that we tend to overlook it but it was proving popular with the few insects about, including one furrow bee.
In an open section of the track, growing almost as an understory and easily missed was the picturesquely named plant enchanter’s nightshade, in my experience a sign of early autumn. It has many tiny white and pink flowers held on hairy stems and well worth stopping to look.
enchanter’s nightshade
In places, a few surviving tutsan flowers were attracting insects and I saw one common carder bee feeding. Brambles, previously covered with flowers, were now dominated by their succulent black fruits and a few hazel nuts had fallen from the tree.
The track ended and I followed a minor road back to our house but on the way there were a few spikes of purple toadflax, attracting more common carder bees. Nearby, a tall horse chestnut tree hung across the road, and among its browning leaves were clusters of large spherical, spiked seed capsules. Inside each of these will be several beautiful shiny brown seeds each about 3cm across. These are colloquially referred to as conkers in the UK and were another important part of late summer children’s games when I was growing up.
So, there was definitely an end of summer feeling on this month’s walk with fruits forming and few flowers remaining, the beginning of the “season of mellow fruitfulness”.
bindweed
snowberry
herb robert flower with furrow bee (Lasioglossum sp.)
blackberries
hazel nuts
purple toadflax with common carder bee (Bombus pascuorum)
As I walked down our road on a sunny mid July morning, it felt as though change was slowly seeping in to our summer. The red valerian that had covered the old stone walls in a haze of pink in June was now looking tired with most of the flowers finished and the grasses that lined the walls were looking dried out. I wondered what I might find along the country lane I had been visiting over the past few months.
When I reached the lane, it seemed that the helter-skelter of growth and flowering of spring and early summer had been replaced by a feeling of stasis, as if someone had applied the brakes. Although there was still plenty of green vegetation, the overhanging trees were now dominant, lowering light levels and suppressing flowers that might be about. There were still a few tall stands of hogweed with their broad plates of white flowers but some had already formed seed. Everything about hogweed is done on a grand scale and the huge clusters of lozenge shaped seeds are no different, expressing a life force that will result in new growth next summer.
Hogweed flowers
Hogweed seeds and flowers
Further on I stopped to look at the burdock. It was covered in flower heads looking like spiky green balls but these were still waiting to open. (photos are at the end of the text) Above the burdock, an elder tree, covered in flowers in May was now exhibiting copious sprays of green berries the size of small peas. These will gradually ripen to the shiny black elderberries loved by amateur wine makers. Also, do you remember the song by Elton John entitled “Elderberry Wine”?
None of this was stasis, though, just a different kind of forward movement. What I was witnessing was the outcome of the first flush of spring, part of the natural cycle of renewal from flowering to seed set. As if to emphasise this, a little further on I came across some blackthorn, snowy flowered in early spring but now showing moderate sized fruit the size of small olives, still green but soon to mature in to shiny black sloes.
Not that the lane was devoid of flowers. Where the leafy tree cover gave way, allowing sunshine in, different habitats developed, dominated by bramble which grew prolifically together with more hogweed. The bramble was covered with its pink and white blooms with prominent stamens and, in the sun, bees, hoverflies and a few butterflies fed from the flowers. Immature berries were already developing from earlier flowers.
Another plant that had come into flower recently was ragwort. Large clumps of this plant grew along the stream that runs along the valley below the lane and also in the adjacent meadow creating fulsome splashes of yellow among the otherwise pale grasses. Ragwort had also appeared in various places around the town by roadsides and in gardens and even along the top of old stone walls. With its sprays of bright yellow flowers, ragwort seems to express some of the essence of the sunshine it has captured, passing on this energy to pollinating insects that feed from the flowers. Ragwort is also the food plant of the cinnabar moth supporting the black and yellow striped caterpillars that feed on the leaves of the plant.
Near the end of the lane, in another sunny clearing, I found a large clump of spear thistle with its chunky, purple, shaving brush flowers and fearsomely spiky leaves. Perhaps the spikes are to protect the plant but they don’t deter pollinators including bumblebees and solitary bees, especially late season ones.
Having said that, there was still a deficiency of insects at the time I walked along the lane. In the last week of July, though, we experienced a spell of hot weather and this seemed to bring many more insects out especially butterflies and bumblebees.
Finally, you may be wondering why there is a picture of a robin at the head of this post. This bird came to see what I was doing as I examined the hogweed seeds. When it was clear that I had no food, it flew away.
Burdock flower heads
immature elderberries
Bramble – flowers and developing fruits
Bramble – flower and honeybee
Ragwort – flowers and honeybee
Cinnabar moth caterpillar eating ragwort leaves and stems
The continual wet weather combined with the dismal world and national news were getting me down. Then Sunday dawned with unexpected sunshine. I had to get outside and decided to walk up the lane near our house. This was four weeks to the day since a previous visit which formed the subject of my last post and I was interested to see how much had changed since then.
Hart’s tongue fern unfurling
The lane was a mosaic of light and shadow that morning, windy in places with the arrival of Storm Kathleen, muddy underfoot but easy walking. Flowers in different shades of yellow including primroses, dandelions and celandine had been, since my last visit, joined by buttercups to decorate the edges of the lane and there was a general sense of lush growth expressing the life force of spring. Trees were greening, ferns unfurled new fronds and the number and range of flowers had increased with stitchwort and bluebells now enhancing the new season’s celebration. The banks of wild garlic (ramsons) that line much of the lane had filled out. The leaves were now mature and covered the ground although there were still very few of the starry white flowers as if the plants were waiting for a signal to start their show.
banks of wild garlic (ramson) leaves iining the lane
lesser celandine flower with fly
All this was both interesting and therapeutic and I much enjoyed the walk but there were two events that morning that I want to describe in more detail.
Lords and Ladies or cukooo pint
The first was an odd but beautiful sight I encountered nestling on the bank at the side of the path. Pushing upwards through the vegetation was a reddish poker-shaped spear about 5 cm long partly surrounded by a thin, protective green cowl. This is the most obvious part of a very unusual flower and perhaps the most perfect example I have seen. The scientific name of the plant is Arum maculatum and most flower books refer to it as Lords and Ladies. For many years, though, I have known it as cuckoo pint. I have a flower book dating from the late 1960s which calls it cuckoo pint so perhaps that is where I learnt it but how did this unusual name arise?
A little research revealed that the distinctive shape of the flower has generated much ribald humour, often gender related, with the plant attracting a host of local names reflecting this. Some examples are: “Adam and Eve”, “cows and bulls”, “naked boys”, “willy lily”, “Kitty come down the lane, jump up and kiss me”. Apparently, cuckoo pint is another of these. “Cuckoo” has long had amorous connotations and “pint” is a shortening of the old English name pintle meaning a penis. There seems to have been a shift away from this name over the past half century, but I shall continue to call it cuckoo pint, now with an added smile on my face.
Putting the naming aside, the plant is also unusual for its pollination strategy. Hidden at the bottom of the cowl, surrounding the poker-shaped spear are a ring of female flowers, above that a ring of male flowers and then a ring of bristly hairs. When the female flowers are ready, they emit a fetid odour that attracts small flies which enter the flower and get trapped by the bristles. If the flies are carrying pollen, they will pollinate the female flowers and pick up more pollen from the male flowers when they are ready. Eventually, the bristles wither and the flies are released to pollinate another plant. All of this results in clusters of bright orange-red berries along the lane in the autumn.
Further up the lane, a break in the sycamore and hazel scrub on the right-hand side was filled by a small tree covered in white blossom. It caught the sun that morning, looking as though a sudden sharp snowfall had decorated the boughs (see picture at the head of this post). I stood there for a while, enjoying the warmth of the sun, examining the small white flowers, trying to get a good photo. For a short time, I was lost in a dreamy world of flowers and photos!
blackthorn blossom
Suddenly, I felt something nudge the back of my right knee, jolting me out of my reverie. This was a shock and I had no idea what had happened until, when I turned round, there was a small dog looking up at me as if to say hello. Judging from the state of my trousers the dog must have nudged me with a muddy paw.
The dog’s owner soon appeared and was very apologetic. Seeing the white blossom tree that had held my attention, she asked what it was. I explained that this was blackthorn. She replied, saying that it looked so beautiful at this time of year and for her it was “Spring’s bridal veil”.
ashy mining bee (Andrena cineraria) on dandelion
After the dog had nudged me, I had stepped back quickly not noticing some bright yellow dandelions nearby and nearly treading on them. When I looked down there was a honey bee-sized insect on one flower, wallowing in the petals, probably drinking nectar. A closer look revealed that the insect was a furry bee, very fresh with well-defined white stripes on a black background. This was an ashy mining bee (Andrena cineraria) named for the black and white colouration which some see as ashes.
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The lane was a glorious patchwork of light, form and colour that morning and the warmth of the spring sunshine and the sense that nature was moving ahead mostly normally did wonders for my mood. I was very glad to have come out and the poetic conversation with the dog owner was an unexpected bonus.
Philip Strange Science and Nature Writing 