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,
There’s a narrow passageway not far from our house running between rows of private gardens, it’s probably an ancient right of way. The path itself is lined by stone walls, wooden fences and mixed vegetation and it provides a useful cut-through towards the town centre. It’s usually very quiet but one morning in late August I encountered an unexpected commotion. Several chunky insects with yellow and black markings were flying repeatedly back and forth across the pathway. There was much high-pitched buzzing and they sounded angry. I felt as though I was intruding on some private dispute. I approached cautiously in case they were wasps but when I got close enough, I could see their eyes, large and round and set high on their head, clearly hoverflies. (see video below and picture towards the bottom of this post)
The source of the aggravation turned out to be one or two ivy flower heads that had matured early and, that morning, were caught in a pool of sunshine. There were plenty of ivy flower heads along the path but only these had opened, sepals peeled back, revealing stamens and the rich source of pollen and nectar afforded by ivy flowers and loved by these hoverflies.
With their nervy, continuous movement they were difficult to count but I estimated that there were perhaps six of the hoverflies. Based on their distinctive black and yellow striped abdominal patterns and fringes of bright yellow hairs they were all the same species, Myathropa florea, and all males. They seemed to be obsessed with feeding so that each time one managed to get to a flower head another would try to take its place leading to much angry buzzing and circling about.
One of the hoverflies on an ivy flower head
I watched the insects for a while and eventually realised that I was not the only spectator. A perfectly constructed web hung across nearby vegetation not far from the ivy flowers and the spider was looking on. The arachnid was nearly lucky when one of the hoverflies blundered in to the web. It struggled for some time before managing to extricate itself and return to the feeding frenzy.
The spider and one of the ivy flower heads with one of the hoverflies
I came back a few days later and found a much quieter scene. The ivy flowers were still there, caught by the sun as before, but all I saw were a few drone flies (Eristalis sp.) feeding quietly. The Myathropa must have found a better place to forage.
Myathropa florea is a common species whose lifecycle includes a larva living in stagnant water in holes in tree stumps and crevices between tree branches. The larva is often described as a rat-tailed maggot from its long tail, a breathing tube able to reach the water surface.
One of the hoverflies with a marking resembling the Batman logo on its thorax. Look at the area above where the wings emerge to see this. See below for a picture of the Batman logo. This picture also shows the position of the eyes as discussed earlier in the text.
The species is commonly referred to as the “Batman hoverfly” because, although the yellow and black markings are rather variable, some individuals, especially in the summer, have a marking on their thorax resembling the Batman logo.
Batman logo
As Robin would have said, “Holy hoverflies, Batman!”
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.
It was the second week of June when I made my way down our road to reach the country lane I have been visiting over the past few months. At this time of year, red valerian grows prolifically from walls at the side of our road, its frothy pink flowers creating a summery almost Mediterranean feeling (see picture at the head of this post). The weather, though, did not completely share this feeling and although the sun shone brightly the air felt quite cool.
Roigh chervil growing through other vegetation along the lane
I reached the lane and began to walk up the first more open part. The prevailing look was still green and lush although the monochrome was now leavened by the white flowers of tall umbellifers standing above the other vegetation. These were mostly the more delicate flowers of rough chervil with its feathery leaves but there was at least one clump of the more robust hogweed. This is usually very popular with insects and notable for its large, rough leaves and tall stature.
Also growing among the vegetation along the path were several spikes of one of my favourite wild flowers, hedge woundwort. This, another insect favourite, was already exhibiting its claret-coloured flowers with their white scribbles.
Hedge woundwort with its claret coloured flowers and their white scribbles
Towards the end of this open section, I came across an imposing plant with a slew of large triangular green leaves, some up to 30cm in length, spilling on to the path. Flower stalks, as yet without flowers, were also shooting upwards and I recognised the plant as burdock. In the past its huge leaves were used to bind wounds and burns and also to wrap pats of butter. There is much to say about the flowers but I’ll return to that when they open.
Burdock growing by the side of the track
As I examined the burdock, marvelling at its extensive growth, I detected a fragrant sweet scent filling the air. Looking about, I found I was standing below an elder tree with many mature creamy flower heads. In my May visit, I had wondered about the smell elderflowers made but now my query was answered.
I walked on, entering the section of the lane enclosed by overhanging trees. Here the air was cooler and the trees admitted, at most, a dappled light. Ferns, now their mature dark green colour, dominated but further on, nestling among fern fronds I found some bright yellow flowers with five petals and impressive masses of yellow stamens, looking like so many solar powered glow sticks. These distinctive flowers occurred in groups above large fleshy green leaves and this is tutsan (Hypericum androsaemum) a plant of shady habitats. Having found it here on the lane I have since seen it in many other places around the town.
Tutsan
The name, tutsan, apparently comes from the old French toute saine for all healthy referring to the healing and soothing properties of the plant. Tutsan is related to St John’s wort (Hypericum perforatum) a plant known for its therapeutic effects on mild and moderate depression. Interestingly, preparations of tutsan are also used in Spanish and Portuguese folk medicine, to treat depression.
Bramble flowers
Dog rose
Lush growth of umbellifers along the track
The path became more open again and stretches were characterised by large numbers of white flowers on extensive stands of bramble, on dog rose and on clumps of umbellifers. With all these flowers and on a sunny day, I expected to see insects but there were few about. A speckled wood butterfly appeared In a sunny section and rested for a short time allowing me to take a photo before a second appeared and the pair flew off together. On a nearby fern, I saw a smart black hoverfly (Cheilosia variabilis, the experts helped me with identification). The lane ended and I walked down a quiet minor road back to our house. The sides of this minor road were lined with red valerian and I found a brightly marked hoverfly (Syrphus sp.) moving about on the stems of the plant. (see below for pictures)
These were interesting observations but to see so few insects in summer is very surprising and I am becoming concerned that there has been a crash in the insect population, perhaps related to our very wet spring coupled with our general treatment of nature. It is still too early to know.
One of the late summer pleasures of our south Devon garden is the appearance of a drift of striking bright yellow daisy-like flowers in one corner. These are the flowers of elecampane, a robust perennial that can grow up to a metre tall. The flowers, each about 8cm across, contain a central disc containing many florets surrounded by thin rays so that each bloom resembles a small sun.
The proper name of elecampane is Inula helenium. Helenium may be a reference to the sun (helios) or it may be a nod to the Greek myth of Helen of Troy. According to this myth, Helen of Troy wept bitterly when she saw the city of Troy burning and as her tears fell to the ground, bright yellow flowers sprung up. These were elecampane.
Our clump of elecampane began to flower this year in early July filling this part of the garden with yellow light. It continued to flower into August and has been very popular with insects, attracting a variety of species of bees, hoverflies, flies and butterflies as long as the sun shone. I spent rather too much time standing by the flowers fascinated, trying to identify each of the many visitors. Here are a few examples of the species I saw.
Small tortoiseshell butterfly feeding from elecampane. If you look carefully the proboscis is visible in this picture
One of my favourites was a butterfly, a small tortoiseshell (Aglais urticae), a species once very common in the UK but recently much declined. A very fresh example appeared one afternoon allowing me to look at its beautiful markings. Although the overall impression of the butterfly was dominated by large orange patches, I was particularly taken by the rear border of the wings, a fine pattern of blue and yellow, resembling medieval stained glass.
Grey-banded mining bee on elecampane. The florets in the central disc open in concentric rings, outside first, spreading inwards gradually. The insect feeds only from the open florets and so tends to move in circles.
The butterfly fed for some time but was repeatedly attacked by small bees feeding on neighbouring elecampane flowers. These bees seemed to object to the butterfly foraging even though there was no shortage of flowers. They also acted aggressively towards other insects much larger than themselves such as bumblebees and hoverflies when they came to feed. These small bees were about the same size as honeybees but notable for the prominent bands of grey/white hairs encircling their abdomen. With some help, I worked out that these were grey-banded mining bees (Andrena denticulata).
Leafcutter bee (Megachile sp.) on elecampane
Another regular visitor to the flowers was a chunky bee with a distinctive ridged abdomen and pale hairs below. This was one of the leafcutters (Megachile sp.), a genus that builds nests in cavities using segments of leaves or petals. It would have been good to identify the species of Megachile but a photo from above doesn’t provide enough information.
Sharp-tailed bee (Coelioxys sp.) on elecampane
On two occasions I also saw another bee with an altogether different look. Its abdomen was slender, tapering to a point, and was decorated with prominent white bands of hair. This was a sharp tailed bee (Coelioxys sp), a parasite of leafcutter bees. The sharp-tailed bee uses its pointed abdomen to pierce the host leafcutter bee nest cell and insert an egg. The Coelioxys larva then takes over the nest, killing the host larvae and consuming the stores of pollen and nectar left by the host.
Elecampane is clearly very popular with insects but it also has a long history of use in human medicine. It is a native of south eastern Europe and Asia and its medicinal properties were known by the ancient Greeks. The Romans were also aware of the medicinal virtues of the plant and were probably responsible for bringing elecampane to this country.
The plant was grown in cottage gardens in the UK and was used in folk medicine to treat respiratory conditions such as asthma, consumption and whooping cough. As official medicine developed in the 16th and 17th centuries, some of these folk remedies were adopted by medical practitioners. Elecampane was one of these remedies and was recommended for many conditions including shortness of breath. The root was candied and pieces were eaten each morning and evening for asthma-type disorders. Contemporary medical herbalists still use the plant for treating asthma and lung conditions.
Elecampane has also been used for supporting respiratory health in horses and goes by the alternative name of “horse-heal”. And if all this weren’t enough, the flowers of elecampane, left to go to seed, are very popular with birds.
For the fourth of my Lockdown Nature Walks, I want to take you along Copland Lane, one of the many old tracks that radiate like compass points from the town of Totnes. Copland Lane follows the westward compass point, roughly parallel to the busy railway line to Plymouth and Cornwall which lies some distance below in the valley. It takes me about 15 minutes, on foot, to reach the beginning of Copland Lane which lies between the gate to a popular group of allotments and a moderate sized, newish housing estate. I walked Copland Lane about a fortnight ago on a day of clear blue skies and warm sunshine tempered by a blustery cold wind.
Near the beginning of Copland Lane
A large stand of blackthorn, still covered in its small white flowers, grows near the start of the lane as if to herald the transition out of the semi-urban into a different world, a world of green, a world of growth, a world of colourful wildflowers.
At first, the lane drops gently downwards, bordered on the right-hand side by steep banks below the gardens of houses and on the other side by a bank of tightly packed soil perhaps stabilised by rubble, known locally as a Devon Hedge. Various kinds of vegetation including shrubs and coppiced trees, grow up prolifically from both sides not quite meeting above the lane but creating an enclosed, sheltered feeling. Sunlight percolates through the tree screen casting a dappled pattern across the track, but there is more to the light today. At this time of year, the trees have fresh, pale green, almost transparent leaves and as the sunlight filters between and through the leaves it acquires a subtle greenness that I only experience in spring.
Along the right-hand side of the lane, where sun warms the soil, I notice large stretches of yellow archangel with its many pale yellow flowers each with hooded, fringed upper lip and broader, three-lobed lower lip with intricate pale brown markings. Looking at the spear-shaped leaves, I see no silvery markings so this is likely to be the true native species rather than the garden cultivar. A worker early bumblebee with its pink-tipped abdomen feeds from the flowers.
yellow archangel
Early bumblebee (Bombus pratorum) worker with pollen feeding at yellow archangel. Look for the single yellow band near the head and the pink tip to the abdomen.
hart’s tongue fern, semi-transparent in the low sunshine
The left-hand side of the lane sees less direct sunlight but growth seems just as prolific although the species that prosper are different. Banks of ramsons line the base of the Devon Hedge, starry white flowers just beginning to show. Several pale spathes of Lords and Ladies struggle through the thick ivy that covers the side of the bank. Fronds of hart’s tongue fern unfurl in groups as they push upwards and where the low sunshine catches their leaves, they become semi-transparent as if X-rayed. Navelwort (wall pennywort) grows in places covering sides of the lane with its circular, fleshy green leaves with their central dimple or navel. Its immature flower spikes push upwards getting ready to display many small white lantern flowers in a few weeks.
a dense, tangled green mass of plants
As I walk on, the lane changes, casting off its enclosed feel to become more open. The Devon Hedge loses its tree cover allowing the sun full access to the soil bank and the fertile conditions encourage the growth of a dense, tangled, green mass of plants (see picture at the head of this post and above). Without flowers, I can’t recognise many of these but I do see the fleshy stems and crimson flowers of red campion and the starry white flowers of stitchwort. I notice vetch-type leaves scrambling through the mass of greenery and one bright pink and white, pea-type flower reveals that this is common vetch. The low sunshine cuts across the bank and through the mass of greenery, highlighting the dense luxurious growth. Something about the light changes as it filters through the seemingly unfettered tangle of vegetation. It’s difficult to pin the effect down but there is a softening, a dispersion.
Occasionally, I encounter people walking along the lane towards me and we perform an elaborate dance to maintain social distancing which often involves one party sheltering in a hedge. Everyone is very polite and we usually say Hello but it feels so alien to shun others where we might normally have exchanged experiences, if only of the weather.
ground ivy – the fragrant leaves of this plant were used as a bittering agent in beers until hops took over.
cuckoo flower
Now, gradually, the feel of the lane changes again. It becomes wider and bound by neat hedges and farmland on the left. There are cows in the fields and the lane takes on the persona of a farm track. The houses on the right eventually peter out, also giving way to farmland, but before they do, there are large grassy banks bathed in sunshine and scattered, confetti-like, with stitchwort. I also notice the violet-blue, funnel-shaped flowers and fleshy scalloped leaves, dark green but tinged red, of ground ivy showing well. Some wild strawberry flowers promise fruit to come and one or two spikes of cuckoo flower push through the grass displaying their delicate lilac flowers.
As I stand gazing at the flowers, a man emerges on to the lane through a gate from one of the houses with his wheelbarrow. He looks at me quizzically as I peer at the grassy bank and asks, not aggressively, what I am looking at.
“I’m looking at the flowers and the insects” I answer
“Ah yes, the flowers are much better now they clear the brambles” he replies before moving off.
tall trees create a green corridor
The lane now has a short section where tall trees create a green corridor with much less sunlight. The vegetation changes accordingly and the path edges are again lined densely with ramsons and, on the right-hand side, where a little sunlight filters through, more yellow archangel seems to prosper. Not long after the tree cover ends, the open, hedged lane splits, offering a choice of two tracks. One is Higher Copland Lane which leads to the hamlet of Copland where someone with a sense of culture and a sense of humour has set up a Bed and Breakfast called Appalachian Spring. I take the other track, Lower Copland Lane, which provides me with the easier way to return to the town, but before I do, I look at the large clump of Alexanders that has colonised the junction of tracks. It stands in full sunshine today with its creamy mop head flowers above thick fleshy stems reminding me of scoops of Cornish Dairy Ice Cream enjoyed as a child on holiday. Alexanders grows mainly by the coast so it is a surprise to find it here. The flowers are proving very popular with hoverflies and almost every flower head is occupied by one of these insects.
Alexanders growing at the junction of paths
hoverfly (Eristalis sp.)
Copland Lane itself is about a mile long, whether you take the Higher or Lower branch. It contains a variety of different environments and there are many interesting things to see. Today it also provided me with a much-needed distraction from the unusual and unsettling way of life now imposed upon us.
Last summer, on one of the hottest days of the year, I joined a walk led by Nick Gray of the Dorset Wildlife Trust through some traditionally managed meadows in Dorset’s Marshwood Vale. We found fields filled with lush grasses, colourful wild flowers and a profusion of insects. This outpouring of joyous, exuberant growth seemed to embody the essence of high summer and the walk turned out to be one of my wildlife highlights of 2018.
Lush grasses in the meadow
We started from Babers Farm below the village of Marshwood and, after a short walk across several fields clad only in a veneer of golden stubble, we crossed a field boundary to enter another world. Here a thick carpet of knee-high grasses dominated the sward, still green despite the long spell of hot weather. Richly coloured flowers were woven into the grassy fabric and many small brown butterflies danced among the seed heads. A transient flash of orange was probably a silver-washed fritillary butterfly. Grasshoppers leapt from the grass in broad arcs as we walked and brightly coloured insects fed from the flowers. As I looked up at the bowl of hills surrounding the Vale, a kestrel, pale brown in this brash light, swept silently across the field. It was the perfect summer moment.
Perhaps it was a reaction to all the doom and gloom I had been hearing about our treatment of the environment and the resulting loss of wildlife? Perhaps it was a deeply buried childhood memory of family picnics among flowers on Dorset hills? Perhaps it was simply all the natural beauty around me? Whatever the reason, it felt, for a few moments, as though this was the only place in the world I wanted to be.
These meadows are managed under a higher-level stewardship scheme which pays for the loss of income incurred through traditional, less intensive land cultivation. The meadow flowers and grasses grow during the warmth and wet of spring and summer and hay is cut and removed in mid-July when flowers have mostly set seed. The aftermath growth is grazed by animals in the autumn after which the land is left until the following spring. It was the last day of June when we visited and high summer sees these meadows liberally studded with the flattened white umbels of corky-fruited water dropwort, a member of the carrot family and a Dorset speciality but rare elsewhere. The flowers were very popular with insects, especially hoverflies which buzzed loudly in small groups while hovering by the flowers in a courtship display. A female would sit on a flower head while a male hovered above her; sometimes another male would hover above the first in a “stack”.
The bright yellow slipper-like flowers of bird’s foot trefoil were also very common in the meadows, sometimes growing so prolifically that the flowers merged into drifts of sunny colour. This is such a common flower that we tend to overlook it but perhaps its very familiarity leads to the many popular names attached to the plant such as eggs and bacon, hen and chickens or granny’s toenails. Nick also told us that the plant may have useful anti-worming properties if consumed by sheep.
Dotted around the meadows, sometimes in large clumps, were the unruly purple flowers of knapweed. These are popular with nectaring insects and I saw a colourful burnet moth and several marbled white butterflies. Knapweed is also one of the plants with the popular name of Bachelor’s Buttons and Nick told us how, in the past, young women played a love-divination game with the flower heads. A young woman wanting to know if her affections would be returned took a knapweed flower head and plucked off the open florets. She placed the flower head inside her blouse and if, after an hour, new florets had opened, then her love would be reciprocated.
Here is the story told by John Clare in his poem “May” from the Shepherd’s Calendar:
They pull the little blossom threads
From out the knapweeds button heads
And put the husk wi many a smile
In their white bosoms for awhile
Who if they guess aright the swain
That loves sweet fancys trys to gain
Tis said that ere its lain an hour
Twill blossom wi a second flower
And from her white breasts hankerchief
Bloom as they ne’er had lost a leaf
A short walk across open countryside took us southwards towards the centre of the Vale, where we found another large traditionally managed meadow. As before, a rich mixture of thick grasses and colourful flowers dominated but I was surprised to find drifts of yellow rattle and a few orchids, looking rather the worse for wear. I began to realise that each meadow has its own character, its own flora, its own colours reflecting the underlying geology and dampness.
Several recent studies have highlighted the decline of insect and bird life in the UK. Factors contributing to this decline include climate change, habitat loss, pollution and pesticide use. For example, the 97% loss of flower-rich hay meadows in the UK during the 20th century linked to agricultural intensification must have seriously affected insect populations as well as birds dependent on insects for food. Some have gone so far as to suggest that unless we modify farming methods, we shall face “Insect Armageddon”. This needs to be taken seriously owing to the important role insects play in, for example, maintaining soil health, digesting waste and pollinating our fruit and flowers.
The meadows that I visited last summer in the Marshwood Vale send a positive message showing that, with careful management, these important habitats can be restored to their former glory, supporting insects and providing food for birds. In more good news, the Magical Marshwood Vale Project (funded by National Grid and coordinated by Dorset AONB and Dorset Wildlife Trust) started in 2018 with the aim of enhancing traditional landscape features and helping to reinstate ecologically important wildlife habitats. This includes the restoration of more wildflower meadows.
I should like to thank Nick Gray for his advice and enthusiasm.
Black and yellow long-horn beetle on corky-fruited water dropwort, The beetle has lost nearly all of one antenna.
Swollen thighed beetle on corky-fruited water dropwort
Bird’s foot trefoil (with a green insect on the upper right hand side of the picture)
Sea, surf, sand and sunshine: this is the exotic scene a few days ago at Bantham in South Devon. Here the River Avon ends its journey from Dartmoor to the sea giving rise to South Devon’s top surfing beach. The green, rocky outcrop in the estuary is Burgh Island providing a surreal setting for its art deco hotel which has, over the years, welcomed the rich and famous as well as inspiring two of Agatha Christie’s murder mysteries. The views are spectacular and this is a frequently painted and frequently photographed spot.
Bantham enjoys a mild climate and I had come here to see what flowers were still showing and what insects were about. In Totnes, about 15 miles inland, there are few flowers left for the bees and other insects. Globe thistle has been very popular with bumblebees but is almost over, sedum is still thronged with honeybees and there is Himalayan balsam by the river but that’s about it. The huge banks of ivy dotted around the town promise food but don’t yet deliver. They may be covered with their grey-green lollipop flower heads but in Totnes these stay firmly closed.
Burgh Island from the cliffs showing the art deco hotel
At Bantham, I follow the coast path up the cliff where there are good views of the bay. There are a few flowers about and I notice a solitary bee and a few small flies on a tall dandelion-like plant that I think is Hawkweed. Some yellow vetch lights up the grass but few other flowers are showing.
Solitary bee on dandelion-like flower, possibly Hawkweed
Soapwort (double flowered)
You have been warned!
Behind the beach there are marram grass-clothed sand dunes dotted with flowers of evening primrose and soapwort. I see a stonechat twitching its tale but I don’t see any insects. We walk cautiously here, chastened by the many signs warning us of adders. I jump when I almost tread on a slow worm but, judging from the speed of its disappearance, it also gets a fright.
The River Avon as it meanders along the edge of the Ham where much of the ivy is found
Back from the dunes is a large tongue of land bordered on one side by the river Avon as it makes one final meander before meeting the sea. This is the Ham where there are huge banks of ivy and this is where I get my next surprise. The first stand of ivy that we encounter has a small but noisy cloud of insects above it showing us that at least the top of the bush is in flower. Large parts of the bush are still waiting to blossom so this must be a very recent flowering. Among the insects enjoying the ivy flower cafe, I notice many small flies and some chunky hoverflies. I also see, and this is the big surprise given that we are still early September, many large, crescent-shaped ivy bees (Colletes hederae) jostling for position on the few ivy flower heads available. The bees look very fresh, each with its black and yellow-striped abdomen, russet-haired thorax and prominent antennae. I assume these are recently emerged males, now feeding and getting ready to mate once the females appear.
Ivy bees on ivy
Walking round the Ham we come across more ivy and more ivy bees. There must be thousands of bees here and that implies a large aggregation of nests. Although I look in all the likely places, the nests prove elusive and I can’t locate them; there are large tracts of land that I can’t access, so I assume they nest there.
Jostling for position
Ivy bee with red admiral
I hadn’t expected to see ivy bees on September 10th; I hadn’t expected to find ivy in flower. The mild seaside climate must encourage the ivy flowers and the bees synchronise their cycle accordingly. I felt quite smug for a while having made such “early” observations of Colletes hederae but then I read a report on the BWARS Facebook page of ivy bees a few miles west of Bantham dated September 1st !
Lady Franklin’s figurehead
During my nest-searching, I drop down to Bantham quay by the river where there is a boat house, built in 1937 to commemorate the coronation of George VI. Two striking figureheads adorn the corners of this building; one of these is of Lady Jane Franklin, looking wistfully out to sea. Her figurehead is Victorian, coming from a ship she financed in memory of her husband, Sir John Franklin who died attempting to navigate the Northwest Passage.
The story of Lady Franklin’s figurehead
With the retreat of the arctic ice cap and global climate change, the Northwest Passage will probably now become navigable for some months each year. Although this may open new trade routes it also increases the danger of damage to the pristine arctic environment.
The title of this post comes from a song, well known in the UK, here is a video clip:
At this time of year, only a small corner of the Leechwell Garden is visible from our kitchen window; the rest is obscured by the thick green wall erected by the trees. I can still see the three silver birches, also two of the benches and the lower part of the water course, popular with young children who like to paddle, especially during the hot weather we experienced this July.
red valerian in seed
There had been storms about and we did hear distant rumbles of thunder on more than one occasion but in Totnes this month there was little or no rain for more than three weeks. With the sultry temperatures everything began to look rather parched. Many of the flowers on the red valerian lining the paths near the Garden turned to seed; this felt earlier than previous years. The plants acquired a downy covering of numerous seeds equipped with small parachutes to aid windborne dispersal; no wonder it grows everywhere. I was also surprised to see ripe blackberries – in my mind blackberries are a feature of autumn.
blackberries
The swifts were an almost constant feature this month, shrieking over the Leechwell Garden morning and evening. Typically there were ten or so probing the air above the Garden looking for insects. On the 21st, the swift spectacular stepped up a notch and we counted more than 40 that evening. I had noticed flying ants in our garden so I wondered if the extra food had attracted the birds.
swifts over the Garden
What is it about the swifts that captures our attention? We have to look, we have to try to count. They speed past our house, they manoeuvre, change course quickly and regroup like miniature spitfires in an old Battle of Britain film. But suddenly, on the 28th we noticed their absence. They had gone, making their way back to Africa for the winter. We miss them.
Down in the Leechwell Garden, one problem this July has been the lack of easily accessible water. There was no actual shortage; water flows freely through the garden but it has to be carried some distance as there are no taps. This was the first prolonged dry spell for some years and I sensed that plant growth was being affected. The Garden volunteers came up with the clever idea of providing watering cans for visitors so that, as they looked around, they could also water the plants. Some of the watering cans are child-sized so watering can become a game.
The pergola with clematis Perle d’Azur and lavender. The notice urges visitors to help with watering.
On the pergola, purple seemed to be the colour of the month. The later flowering clematis showed well and the path was lined with burgeoning banks of lavender.
wild flower bank
At the far end of the pergola there is a long wild flower bank. This has been carefully planted and showed a fine mixture of native plants in July – I saw proud yellow-flowered stems of mullein, floppy flowers of evening primrose, peering ox eye daisies, wild marjoram, musk mallow, knapweed, and, towering above them all, spindly purple-flowered verbena bonariensis (native to South America).
marjoram
It’s very good to see the wild flower bank as it’s one way to provide extra habitat for pollinators. I saw plenty of insects there in the morning but later they seemed to desert this part of the Garden for the attractions of other flowers. One of the competitors was a large patch of golden marjoram covered with white flowers; on sunny afternoons this positively pulsated with honeybees and hoverflies. The beautiful borage also continued to flower well and its starry blooms were well used by bumble bees.
borage
borage with bumblebee
I want to finish with more pictures of bees and flowers.
scabious with honeybee
I found this marigold with a bee turning in circles rubbing its abdomen around the flower centre. I think this might have been a leaf-cutter bee. I hope so.
The picture of the swifts was taken by Hazel Strange.
Philip Strange Science and Nature Writing 