The blue, the bronze and the hairy

We have been on somewhat of a quest this year to transform our little urban yard into a plot beneficial to wildlife. Planting a range of native and ornamental plants, constructing a tiny pond, adding a bee box, and creating a small meadow area in a raised bed, we had hoped that wildlife would be quick to colonise this new habitat…

A few months in and our efforts to document our garden visitors, big and small, have yielded a number of interesting and significant sightings. Moreover, the challenge of creating something positive for nature and recording its use has really helped keep me sane throughout this turbulent time. A win, win if ever there was one.

Here’s a quick rundown of three exciting finds…

The blue…

Venturing out into the yard, coffee in hand, and intent on inspecting our tulips before they melt away to mush, yesterday we were graced by a rather superb garden visitor: a Holly Blue butterfly.

Though growing more abundant each year as they expand their range in the North East, these dazzling blue butterflies remain far from a part of daily life here. Found near holly and ivy (the species larval foodplants of which we have neither in the yard) it came as somewhat surprised to find this particular winged sapphire perched atop our stumpy, potted Buddleja – evidently warming up following a particularly chilly night.

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A rather lovely Holly Blue (Celastrina argiolus)

The bronze…

Last year,  we were lucky to note a number of small, shiny bees visiting the garden. Most often encountered around smaller flowers – including our tomatoes – a few grainy photographs and some advice from local experts pointed towards these being Bronze Furrow Bee, Halictus tumulorum. Fast forward a year and our metallic visitors are back and this time, thankfully, they stayed still long enough for a verified identification.

Looking at the NBN Atlas distribution map for this species, records in the North East appear thin on the ground. Whether this is due to scarcity or simply a lack of people with the time to pursue the speedy blighters, I am unsure. Regardless, this would appear to be an interesting record.

The bees continue to visit the garden most days and make for enjoyable viewing as they mill about between planters. Their small size and fly-like appearance are worlds away from what I would traditionally have envisaged when hearing the word ‘bee’.

Bronze Furrow Bee (Halictus tumulorum)

The hairy…

Now, this is an exciting one. For a few weeks now, we have been seeing a number of small, brown yet intricately marked ‘jumping spiders’ in the garden. Similar in shape to the more familiar Zebra Jumping Spider, these went unidentified until (fortuitously) one ventured into the house – found attempting to snaffle the plentiful fungus gnats emerging from our windowsill chillies.

Now, I confess, I know nothing about spiders but thankfully, some people do, thus a specimen was sent off to North East’s county record for spiders, Richard Wilison. Fast forward a few days and the spiders’ identity was revealed as a mature male Hypositticus pubescens.

What makes this record interesting is that there are only previous six records of this species in my area, all dating between 1911 & 1931. That makes our little spider the first record for North East England for around 90 years.

It really is amazing what an open window and a burgeoning pest problem can turn up…

Hypositticus pubescens – quite cute, for a spider…

On the hunt for urban bees

For me, one of the few positive aspects of our current lockdown has been the opportunity to look closer at the wildlife that persists close to home. Doing so has been eye-opening, to say the least, and while of course, I would rather have been venturing into the wider countryside, the diversity of life here has both surprised and delighted me.

One of the most obvious species groups on our street of late has been the bees. Spurred on by the North East Bee Hunt, an ongoing citizen science scheme led by the Natural History Society of Northumbria, I have been paying an increasing amount of attention to these vitally important invertebrates over recent weeks – with great results. As of writing this, we have now recorded 14 species of bee on our street!

Where better to start than with bumblebees? The first queens appeared here in March providing a good opportunity to appreciate the emerging ladies in all of their fluffy, bumbling glory; while now, workers have begun to appear. Of these, Buff-tailed Bumblebee, Tree Bumblebee, and Common Carder Bee have been the most conspicuous, congregating en masse in the weed-filled yards that dominate on our street. More interesting still were sightings of Small Garden Bumblebee and Early Bumblebee – both new species for the ever-growing ‘street list‘.

Topping off our haul of Britain’s larger, more trendy bees, on a few occasions now we have caught sight of striking cuckoo bumblebee patrolling the length of hedge that fringes the nearby railway line. Sporting an eye-catching combination of a black body and white abdomen (okay, bum) this was either a Southern Cuckoo Bumblebee or Gypsy’s Cuckoo Bumblebee. Frustratingly, the pair are almost indistinguishable and I think I’ll have to make do with a question mark next to this record.

I confess that until recently, I had paid little attention to solitary bees, believing them small, difficult to identify, and perhaps, a little less interesting than our bumblebees. Oh, how wrong I was – these little engineers are fascinating to watch and just as vivid as their larger, more rotund kin.

One of the most abundant solitary bees observed of late has been the fox-coloured Tawny Mining Bee. A colony of which appears to be flourishing on the outskirts of the local allotments with the larger, ginger females favouring a patch of Cherry Laurel to bask each day as the sun warms up. One of our most recognisable solitary bees, this species is known to favour gardens, parks, and other artificial habitats thus its little wonder we have found them here.

Female and male Tawny Mining Bee (Andrena fulva)

Slightly less easy to identify, the former species appears to be sharing it’s a particular stretch of hedgerow with another species: the Chocolate Mining Bee. A new species for me, this large bee has a distinct Honeybee vibe about it but boasts characteristic white hairs on the underside of its hind legs. At first glance, this bee looks incredibly similar to another species, the Buffish Mining Bee, although, under scrutiny, the latter species displays an orange-coloured pollen brush on its back lets.

Chocolate Mining Bee (Andrena scotica)

At first glance, Buffish Mining Bees appear somewhat scarcer here and annoyingly, the only one I managed to photograph was covered in pollen, making recognition of those orange pollen brushes impossible.

Buffish Mining Bee (female)

Buffish Mining Bee (Andrena nigroaenea)

Familiar from bee boxes and wall cavities across the nation, the Red Mason Bee is another species we have noticed a lot recently. Boasting a beautiful mix of flame-orange and black, these bees have quickly become a regular fixture of our daily walks with the larger, some may say more appealing, females gathering in good numbers on the muddy shores of our local pond. Here they gather all-important mud used for lining their nest cells as shown in the video below – what a treat.

At the risk of waffling on too long about bees, I will skip over Early Mining Bees. What does warrant a mention however are colourful but confusing Nomada cuckoo bees that have become increasingly prevalent over recent weeks. Like the Cuckoo Bumblebees, these wasp-like bees are nest parasites – they lay their eggs in the nests of solitary bees, with most species of Nomad Bee favouring a particular species.

These blighters are notoriously hard to identify; particularly the tri-coloured individuals shown in the photos below. They could be Panzer’s Nomad Bee but alas, this is another instance where I may well have to settle for appreciating the bee absent delving into identification. We did, however, with some expert help from Charlotte Rankin (aka @bumble_being) manage to identify a single Gooden’s Nomad Bee – a known parasite of Buffish Mining Bee.

An unidentified Nomada sp.

If you cannot tell already, I definitely have bees on the brain at the moment. Little wonder really given how fascinating these important little insects are. I will curtail this blog post there and save a further bee-themed announcement for a future blog post.

If, like me, you live in the North East of England, please consider sharing your bee sightings as part of the North East Bee Hunt. Your records can help plug the gaps in our knowledge and ensure those working to protect bees are equipped with greater knowledge going forward.

More tales from the urban jungle

In line with the government guidance, this week, time in nature has been squeezed and condensed. A  few short forays to my local park and innumerable laps of our eerily quiet street the best I could muster while sticking to the law.

Outside, the seasons advance regardless of the turmoil unfolding in human society and the lives of the plants and animals continue as they always have, unchanged by the pandemic hamstringing their human admirers.

The big change observed this week on my local patch was the emergence of insect life. A few sunnier days, a marginal increase in temperature and the floodgates have well and truly opened. Butterflies have been conspicuous, the most numerous of which being Small Tortoiseshell and Peacock. Their presence adds a much-needed touch of colour to life here. They were not alone, however, and Comma too have emerged, brown yet far from dull; while yesterday brought my first Small White of the season.

Much like their more glamourous counterparts, bees to have dramatically increased this week. The few intrepid Buff-tailed Bumblebees now joined by Tree, White-tailed and Red-tailed bumbles, as well as my first Common Carder of the year. The greatest concentration of these furry pollinators being found on a stand of blooming Blackthorn in the centre of the local park – the setting for yesterdays allocated thirty minutes of ‘exercise’. The small white blooms, splayed and smiling, together form an irresistible draw to invertebrates of all shapes and sizes.

Also worthy of a mention on the invertebrate front was my first (ever) Dark-bordered Bee Fly; while a brief solitary bee, likely a Tawny Mining Bee, proved far too quick to photograph. As is often the norm with small, winged beasties.

Walking multiple, circular loops of the park, it was exciting to note at least four singing Chiffchaff. Their repetitive, maladroit song quite literally, music to my ears. Less so the sound of shrieking Ring-necked Parakeets, which seem to be growing more abundant by the day in my neck of the woods. Give it a decade or so and their population here may well mirror that of London.

What of the plants? Well, befitting January promise to educate myself on local plant life, I have continued to keep my eye to the ground. Locally, the fine weather this week as seen many more species set about blooming, and it was nice to note a few firsts for the year in the form of Greater Stitchwort and Cowslip. A small patch of Honesty blooming on the outskirts of the local allotment, clearly an escape from cultivation, was also pleasing to the eye.

But what of new species for current exercise in species diversity? Well, there were a few actually, including Henbit Dead-nettle, Charlock and Garden Grape Hyacinth found growing in cracks and crevices along the neighbouring street. On the slightly more mobile front, Daddy Long Legs and Garden Spider made up the arachnid haul; while I think I have successfully identified my first bryophyte here: Wall Screw Moss, Tortula muralis. How exciting, I hear you say!

All in all, that’s 114 species identified on my urban patch.

Signs of Spring, by Frances Jones

My walk through the woods has become significantly more important for me since the announcement came that the country was going into lockdown. The song of the blackbird, the sight of a butterfly; these and many more moments have become more precious as the freedom to move whenever and wherever is reduced. After a number of phone calls and emails trying to ascertain my next step, work-wise, I took myself off for a walk. This is my daily exercise, as defined in the government’s list of restrictions, but it serves an important purpose for my mind, too. The sight of green does a lot to keep my spirits high, and the unexpected but familiar creatures that I see whilst out of the house do, too.

This morning, I took the path that meanders alongside a brook at the back of the houses here. The water glistened, clear and bright, tumbling over the branches that had fallen there in the last storms. How long ago those seem, now! I stopped whilst a comma fluttered in front of me and came to rest on a celandine flower. It had chosen a sunny spot and bathed there several minutes. When I moved, I cast a shadow and the butterfly left its darkened flower and settled on another, still in sunshine. I moved with it and walked on,  leaving it in peace. The woodland was alive with birdsong; blue tits, great tits, chaffinches and blackbirds all sang to create a joyous chorus. I had woken up to their songs, and it wasn’t a bad way to start the day. Most mornings, the woodpigeons sit on the roof and coo, a rhythmic message that always ends on a short note. They also perch in the birch trees outside my window, looking rather too large for the delicate twigs that bear their weight. Sparrows flit from branch to branch, chattering and looking industrious. Last year I watched a greater spotted woodpecker hunt for titbits on the grass in front of the house. It was rather a treat for me to see one close up.

I turned left to follow the curve of the small lake. This area used to be a brickworks, and when the houses were built the lake was created to help minimise the risk of flooding. The trees are changing into their spring clothes now and the willows looked particularly beautiful against the deep blue sky. The delicate white of hawthorn lined my route around the water and on the banks, mallards were resting in the midday sun.

I’m intending, during this period of restricted movement, to make as much of my time outdoors as I can. I will pay attention to the birdsong and the wildlife I see; I’ll learn to identify more birds by song, and I will try to identify those that I don’t yet know by sight. Because I can wander through the woods and enjoy it, regardless, but as Simon Barnes says in How to be a Bad Birdwatcher, the naming of things is important. It brings meaning, extra appreciation, and a sense that we are connected to that creature, bird or tree that we see. Spring has sprung here and for that, I’m thankful.

Tales from the urban jungle

It certainly feels like Spring has sprung in my little corner of Newcastle: garish daffodils of all shapes and sizes adorn the roadsides, House Sparrows emerge from beneath the slates of terraced homes and cool yet brighter mornings are marked by the fluted notes of Song Thrush and the caterwauling of returning Lesser Black-backed Gulls.

In the small park at the end of my street, the regulars are busy. Blue Tits make tentative inspections of nestboxes lovingly placed by local volunteers, plump Woodpigeons haul twigs back and forward and each tree, whether Ash, Oak or Sycamore, seems to sport at least one bird in full song. On today’s walk, it was the Robins that sang the loudest; although the song of Greenfinch, Dunnock and Goldfinch was audible during the lulls.

There have been a few new arrivals on the local patch this week – new species to adorn the growing list of critters with whom I share my street. Among these, the oystercatcher was the loudest – shrieking at dawn as it circled the wasteland a stone’s throw from home. Doubtless, a suitable breeding site for a pioneering wader. Slightly more demur was the reed bunting – a handsome male – that turned up on the parkland pond, singing amid a stand of reeds no bigger than your average office. Not a bird I had to expect to see in the city when I set out to record the wildlife here.

Also new this week were the frogs – not that I have seen one yet. City amphibians appear far too savvy for that. No, instead I must make do with the leftovers of their nocturnal antics – several globs of spawn deposited around the margins of the pool. A promising sign that, despite everything, frogs still persist here.

Earlier, I mentioned daffodils – the flower of the moment and everyone’s favourite springtime bloom. Not mine, I’m afraid, my efforts this week focused on unearthing (figuratively speaking) other treasures along the path sides and fractured walls of the street. A successful mission, with a few new species for the patch: Green Alkanet, adorned with gorgeous, deep-blue flowers; fuzzy Common Mouse-ear and, perhaps most exciting of all, what I think could be Danish Scurvygrass. A salt-tolerant species now flourishing along the perpetually gritted motorways of the UK, growing here (ironically) outside the local salt storage depot.

Green Alkanet, Danish Scurvygrass and Common Mouse-ear

Plants need not be new to be exciting, however, and this week, the dainty white blooms of cherry plum have reigned supreme. A naturalised species in the UK, this eye-catching member of the prunus family is one of the first trees to spring to life, blooming even earlier than our native blackthorn with which it shares many similarities. Blooms which, at present, are painting my local park a beautiful white, all while providing a welcome source of nectar to the few intrepid pollinators willing to brave the chill and venture out.

The blooms of Cherry Plum in the local park

Well, that’s just about a wrap for this weeks update. Honourary mentions this week go to the Ring-necked Parakeets who, having well and truly colonised the North, appear resident on the street – flying too and fro and never failing to rattle the nerves with their piercing shouts. Somewhat less obtrusive (yet no less colourful), Goldfinches also continue to raid the feeders daily – a welcome splash of colour against a backdrop of aged brick and flaking window frames.

Laying the Foundations of a Wildlife Garden

Our garden (if we can call it that) was a barren old thing. Little more than a few square meters of concrete fenced off and overlooked on all sides by housing. Not exactly what you would call wildlife haven; though things did improve somewhat when we set about making a few small changes last year.

First up, and to compensate for a complete lack of soil, we added planters. Filling these, in turn, with a typical range of garden plants to keep us entertained and a few vegetables to put food on the table. We planted lavender, runner beans, violas and honeysuckle – pretty run of the mill plants which, despite not being planted expressly for the benefit of nature, did entice a few species into the yard. Namely a good variety of pest species (aphids, spider mites, cabbage fly, the list goes on) but also pollinators, and lots of them.

Next came the addition of a 1×1 meter grow bed (for vegetables), and pond in a pot, a few hanging baskets to increase planting space and finally, an as-yet unused bee box. That was that for 2019. A step in the right direction but not what anyone would call a garden suited to wildlife, and something that I hope to change in 2020.

I confess it doesn’t look like much…

Spurred on by a newfound desire to record as many species as possible in my neighbourhood and, of course, do my bit for nature, this year, we’re starting from scratch. The pots will be filled with species beneficial to wildlife and the grow bed given over to native plant species in the hope of creating a small yet mighty meadow. It won’t be long now until we can sow this and hopefully, by summer, we will see a vibrant swath of clover, trefoil, vetch, Ox-eye daisy and perhaps even some more unusual species. If, that is, the seeds of Bladder Campion, Scarlet Pimpernel and Wild Liquorice currently growing in the greenhouse come too much.

Away from the meadow, pot space will also be utilised with nature in mind. A process started in autumn when we crammed every available bit of space with spring bulbs to provide an early source of nectar. Crocus, daffodil, tulip, Snake’s Head Fritillary, English Bluebell, Hyacinth, Snowdrop; they’re all represented and some are even in full flower as I write this. By the time these have passed, it will be allium, Globe Thistle, Buddleia and Lamb’s-ear that take over. Not to mention a plethora of herbs we intend to introduce – thyme and marjoram providing particularly popular last year.

Keen to do as much as possible with a minuscule plot, we’ll also be planting out Red Valarian – ever popular with pollinators and rather beautiful. A slight side motivation for this is the hope of attracting a Humming-bird Hawk Moth into the garden. I did see one across the street last year…

Signs of life in the pop-up greenhouse: Red Valarian, Bladder Campion, Lamb’s-ear and strawberry.

Elsewhere in the yard, the roses, blackcurrant, strawberries and raspberry bush can stay as all boast at least some value to wildlife. Equally, we still intend to grow our chilli and tomato plants but will not be making a concerted effort to ‘protect’ these from pests – all of which, alongside their predators, will be embraced in the hope of some sense of equilibrium forming.

A few other ‘rules’ and ideas for 2020:

  • No pesticides. None at all. Not even an option.
  • Peat free compost only
  • Weeds and botanical colonists can stay- we’ll even leave a few pots vacant to see what turns up naturally.
  • Vertical gardening – we’re running out of space but do have an excess of walls perfect for hanging baskets. More space equals more plants.
  • A sparrow box – a bit of far-fetched idea but who knows!
  • More bug hotels.

As you can probably tell, I am quite excited to see what the new season holds for our little garden (I must start using that word). While our efforts pale in comparison to those of others, I believe it is important to do what you can with the space available to you, in doing so, contributing to the bigger picture of gardens as vital space for nature.

As ever, I’d love to hear any ideas you may have for making further improvements and do hope you will tune in to future blog posts to keep up to date with our progress.

Oh yes, I almost forgot the first few species added to this years garden species count:

#1 Bluebottle, #2 Ivy-leaved Toadflax, #3 Goldfinch, #4 Blue Tit, #5 Robin

Enjoying a waif from the East

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of catching up with the long-staying male Black-throated Thrush at Whipsnade Zoo, in Bedfordshire (a long way from home for this Geordie).

Enjoying a scarce bird is always a pleasure but, I confess, the experience of observing just such a lost waif in the company of free-ranging South American Mara and hods of perplexed zoo-goers was certainly something new. The bird in question not at all perturbed by the crowds as it foraged for worms on the lawn by the zoo’s cafe.

Black-throated Thrush (Turdus atrogularis) is a migratory Asian species, breeding from the far East of Europe, through Siberia and down into Northern Mongolia. It is an occasional vagrant to Western Europe with this winter, in particular, seemingly a good once for this eye-catching species.

Nature has no cue: Our ‘lost’ winters are throwing nature into a state of confusion

As butterflies and newts are spotted in December, earlier than nature intended, scientists warn that species are losing their seasonal cues as winters warm and seasons morph.

The latest data from Nature’s Calendar, the UK’s largest study of the seasons, shows that active butterflies and newts and nesting blackbirds have already been spotted, months earlier than normal.  This may spell disaster for some species, tempted out of hibernation too soon, as our increasingly erratic weather could yet bring fatal plummeting temperatures. And some birds appear to be breeding too late to capitalise on vital food sources.

Lorienne Whittle, Nature’s Calendar Citizen Science Officer at the Woodland Trust said:

“It seems that last year we almost lost winter as a season – it was much milder and our data shows wildlife is responding, potentially putting many at risk.”

“Our records are showing random events such as frogspawn arriving far earlier than expected, possibly to be wiped out when a late cold snap occurs.’’

The project compiles records of seasonal activity, sent in by thousands of volunteers across the UK, such as the first flowering snowdrop in spring to the first ripe berries of autumn. Final analysis of the 2019 data reveals that all but one, of over 50 Spring events it tracks, were early, but by varying amounts.  This adds to our knowledge of how climate change is having a direct and potentially detrimental impact on the survival of UK wildlife.

This is in line with the MET Office’s analysis of the last decade. Earlier this month it revealed that the last decade was the warmest on record, and 2019 was the second warmest year since 1850 when records began.

Some species appear to be falling out of sync with each other because each responds individually and at different rates to rising temperatures.

Lorianne continues:

“It appears that some species are able to adapt to the advancing spring better than others. Oak trees respond by producing their first leaves earlier and caterpillars seem to be keeping pace. But blue tits, great tits and pied flycatchers are struggling to react in time for their chicks to take advantage of the peak amount of caterpillars, the food source on which they depend.’’  

Danny Clarke, garden designer and TV presenter,  is supporting the Woodland Trust in its call for more recorders. He said:  “In recent years I’ve witnessed undeniable changes to our weather patterns. Gone are the times when a freezing snowy winter would be a certainty. Indeed I can count the toes on one foot, how many severe frosts are encountered at this period during recent years.

“Can’t help noticing how many deciduous trees are hanging onto their leaves for longer and on occasions not shedding them. Also, daffodils and tulips show themselves earlier than expected only to be knocked back by a cold spell. The tree and plant world doesn’t know whether to stick or twist at the moment and that’s down to climate change. I know of clients who continue to trim their lawns through the winter period. It’s bonkers mad!”

The project is now in its 20th year and is calling for more recorders to give an even clearer picture of the impact of climate change on our wildlife throughout the next decade. Its database currently contains 2.9 million records, collected since 1736, which are being used by researchers internationally. To get involved, visit naturescalendar.woodlandtrust.org.uk.

Volunteer Valerie Hurst, who has recorded for nearly twenty years, said : “The changes in the constancy of nature give real clues to climate change and are an indicator of climate change that we can all observe. I would say for me the point of real interest is the first snowdrop which seems to come ever earlier in January and the last leaf on the oak which seems to stay even longer into December.”

Some interesting records from the Woodland Trust:

Peacock butterfly. This overwinters as an adult in the UK. We had a record on Christmas eve (Kent) and another on 31/12/19 (Cornwall). In the past 10 years, we’ve only had 2 other December records. We suspect they have woken early due to mild weather in the south of the country.

Red admiral. spotted on a sunny wall on 30/12/19 in the Channel Islands. Only 4 December records in the past 10 years.

Newts. Active newts recorded on 27/12/19 in Cheshire. The recorder comments that they observe the pond every day so we’re confident it’s a good record. We’ve only had 3 other December records in the last 10 years.

Blackbird building a nest. Recorded on 02/01/20 in Wiltshire. The recorder has since commented that the nest is now fully built. In the last 10 years, we’ve only had 1 December record of blackbird nest building in December and only 4 other records that early in January.

Full records and analysis in full of 2019 can be found here 

Bringing Nature into the Music Lesson, by Frances Jones

On New Year’s Eve, in a cosy cafe over pots of tea, a friend put a question to the group: ‘So what are you going to do to save the planet this year?’ I don’t fly, and have for a long time tried to tread lightly and shop sustainably, although I can always do better. Over the following days, I mulled over the question and decided to rethink some aspects of my teaching. I currently teach music in a West Sussex primary school, which is blessed with a rural setting, planting to inspire the senses and chickens. Wanting to celebrate this in some way, I decided to integrate themes from the natural world into my music curriculum. I have linked the two in previous years but, with some creativity, I thought I could do more. In his wonderful writings on bees, Dave Goulson notes that young children are usually enthralled by nature, but lose interest as they grow up. I hoped that connecting musical learning with the natural environment might emphasis the significance of the latter, inspire the children’s creativity, and promote discussion and curiosity at a time when guardians of the planet are badly needed.

After some thought, my musical projects this term read as follows: singing and writing environmental protest songs with the oldest children; listening to and creating music descriptive of natural landscapes with the middle year groups, and exploring woodland sounds and songs with the youngest. One group will have the option to make percussion instruments at home – an opportunity to reuse and recycle. We’re just at the beginning and I will wait to see how the projects unfold.

I spend a noticeable amount of time, in January, longing for lighter evenings. Each day, when dusk begins to fall and I’m on my way home, I look upwards and will the sky to shed its sobriety and brighten. However, the silhouettes of bare trees against a sunset is a wonderful sight and makes my journey home more of a delight than a chore. Yesterday I decided to head straight out again after arriving home, inspired by the rural wooded landscape through which I had just passed and hastened by the knowledge that any last vestige of light would soon disappear. A  stone’s throw from the house is an L shaped pond, bordered on two sides by silver birch. The tall, thin trees looked elegant in this half-light; the branches an intricate patchwork, disturbed here and thereby a great clump of twigs formed into a nest. By the time I reached the other side of the pond, the scene was lit only by a solitary streetlamp and the sky was black. I hadn’t been paying attention to sound, enjoying the relative quiet, but from somewhere above my left ear came the most beautiful of songs. In the dusk, a robin, perched delicately on a branch, sang out for me alone (or so it seemed).

Recently I was looking through the news when an article on tree planting caught my eye. The accompanying picture showed a forest of young trees, which turned out to be Heartwood Forest in Hertfordshire, planted by volunteers nearly ten years ago. What were once spindly bunches of twigs have now flourished into woodland, enjoyed by wildlife and people. I was one of those volunteers and, having forgotten all about it ten years later, this story was wonderful to read. After describing the various heights of trees to rather loosely illustrate the concept of pitch with a class yesterday, I told the children about my tree planting and the resulting forest. Wouldn’t it be amazing if they planted a tree and came back to see it when they were in Year 6, I said. One child already had, and told me all about it. Get planting; it’s never too soon.

 

 

A Tale of Two Plant Hunts

The Botanical Society of Britain and Ireland’s (BSBI) New Year Plant Hunt is an annual event in which botanists, experts and amateurs alike, head out to record the plant species bucking the time-honoured trend and blooming in the depths of winter. Now in its ninth year, the four-day survey is both great fun and an important means by which to assess how changing weather patterns are altering the behaviour of our wildflowers. If you would like to take part, tomorrow is your last chance, at least until 2021.

Having enjoyed my attempt in 2019, I was keen to once again take part in the NYPH this year. What I had not anticipated, however, was that I would end up leading a group walk as part of a friendly competition here in the North-East between botanically-minded members of the Natural History Society of Northumbria. A challenge that would see an expert group, led by a former BSBI President, no less, traversing the picturesque dune slacks of Lindisfarne; while a slightly less practised group, led by myself, would take on the parks, roadsides, and front weed-strewn front gardens of Newcastle.

Setting out on New Years Day, it immediately became apparent that non-native species would form a cornerstone of our collective, botanical haul. Indeed, the streets of Heaton, my own district of Newcastle, revealed a kaleidoscopic mix of aliens, each having breached the confines of their garden prisons long ago. Red Valarian, tall and lusciously pink, bright yellow Oxford Ragwort and the star-shaped blue heads of Trailing Bellflower conspicuous against the greys and browns of concrete and brick. Looking closer, other colonists became apparent also: Canadian and Mexican Fleabane, Yellow Corydalis and Snapdragon. Later in the walk, Pru, a member of our group, also pointed out a new species for me, Mock Strawberry, a yellow flowering native of South Asia. Newcastle, it seems, like a great many of our cities represents somewhat of a botanical United Nations, boasting species from almost all corners of the globe.

Of course, native species also featured as part of our foray. Mainly the tenacious ‘weeds’ that are widely known to persevere throughout the winter months: Shepard’s Purse, Groundsel, Hogweed, Feverfew and the omnipresent Annual Meadow Grass. That said, it was surprising to find the delicate white blooms of Wild Strawberry clinging on in the relative shelter of Jesmond Dene, a local woodland, and the minute, octopus-like female flowers of Hazel greatly brightened up our morning.

All in all, our merry band of urban plant-hunters finished on an unseasonally high total of 40 species. As did the team roving on Lindisfarne, it turns out. With a great day had by all, it would be rude to scoff at an amicable draw.

Mock Strawberry, Wild Strawberry, Hazel and Feverfew

Fast forward to Thursday and keen to head out with my newly acquired hand lens and Collin’s guide to British flora, and a jaunt to the coast beckoned. What transpired was a lovely (and uncharacteristically sunny) three hours at Tynemouth, ultimately culminating in a grand total of 43 flowering plants. The highlight of which had to be Alexanders in bloom – a regionally scarce species abundant at this site due, I am led to believe, to the culinary taste of the monks who once inhabited the long-abandoned Tynemouth Priority.

Elsewhere, I chanced upon two new species for me: Seaside Daisy and Buck’s-horn Plantain. The former, a native of California persevering along a small stretch of stonework near the priory, and the second, a pretty cool native species whose leaves (at least in my mind) resemble more the serrated bill of a Sawfish, as opposed to the horns of a buck. I am unsure how I have overlooked this plant until now – it’s pretty distinct.

Left to right: Alexanders, Seaside Daisy & Buck’s-horn Plaintain

All in all, this year’s New Year Plant Hunt provided a great opportunity to get out and about and appreciate the diversity of local flora. While also providing an opportunity to learn from and socialise with a number of local botanists far more knowledgeable than I. A win-win!

If you would like to cast your peepers over the results of this year’s hunt or, like me, keep a watchful eye on what others have seen in your area, you can check out the BSBI results page here: https://nyph.bsbi.org/results.php

Winter Walks in the Vineyard, by Frances Jones

The bright sunshine urged me out of doors this Sunday morning, and I pulled on boots and a raincoat in readiness for a walk. Long-standing readers of this blog may recall I previously wrote about experiencing nature in the city. Living in the midst of a built-up area, surrounded by blocks of flats and busy roads, I tried to notice beauty everywhere I went and this would make a routine walk much more interesting, as well as raise my spirits. Earlier this year I left London for the Surrey Hills. It’s wonderful to be here, but I still feel the need to see and celebrate nature. I’d argue many of us do. So here’s what I noticed on my winter stroll.

I walked to the edge of town and found a footpath sign pointing the way. The path wove along the backs of houses, climbing gently through thick mud. I was on the north side of the town, with Denbies Vineyard stretched out on my right and wooded slopes in front. The path was bordered on one side by spindly sticks of hedgerow that silhouetted beautifully against the blue sky. Around the bare twigs curled the soft, silky flowers of old man’s beard, still intact despite the battering they must have had from the rain. Further up, the hedge filled out with evergreens and I noted pyracantha, holly, and brambles still with the odd shrivelled berry. The path now edged round a copse of beech trees. A bullfinch flew across my way, pausing just long enough in the uppermost branches of a silver birch for me to notice its colourful plumage. A blackbird hopped from twig to twig on my left-hand side, and the trees were now leaning towards each other, over the path, to create an arboreal ceiling. The trees in the copse had shed many of their leaves and, after the downpour the previous night, the copper carpet glistened in the sunlight. Over the crest of the hill, th

e path turned into a muddy track that led into the vineyard. Despite not feeling that I’d climbed very high, I had views across to the east, west and north; if I looked due west towards Ranmore I could follow with my eyes the North Downs Way, which came down the hills, around the vineyard, and on across to Box Hill and beyond.

Being outside on this bright winter’s day felt good, and after looking up at the many shapes of the trees covering the hillside to my left, I stomped forward on a path between the vines. The tyres of a tractor had formed troughs in the mud, and these had filled with water, creating a series of similarly shaped puddles that reflected the light. I reached the edge of the vineyard and, as I looked for a way out, was drawn towards a rose that had gone rouge over a wire fence. A stem covered in rose-hips had arched itself over the top wire, and made a beautiful feature of an otherwise purely functional barrier. I hadn’t been feeling very festive, and the bright sunshine and clear sky were almost spring-like, but I was suddenly inspired by what I’d noticed on my walk.  Nature’s festive decorations were out here, bringing splashes of beauty in a mixture of shape and seasonal colour. I wouldn’t be bringing any home, of course, and, like others, I still like to light up my window with fairy lights in December. But getting closer to nature had, again, invigorated my spirits and set me up for the week ahead.

Winter wildlife doesn’t come much better than this

It’s shaping up to be a good year for Bohemian Waxwings (Bombycilla garrulus). Sure, the much anticipated ‘waxwing winter’ – an irregular spectacle marked by the mass arrival of these colourful birds to our shores – never quite came to fruition, but there is still a good number around. Hundreds, as opposed to thousands, yet more than enough to delight those, like me, who await their arrival with bated breath each year.

Locally, waxwings are fairly abundant this winter. A few larger flocks of between sixty and one-hundred birds feasting on berries in urban areas, and smaller groups appearing just about everywhere else: in villages, industrial estates, rural areas and city centres. As of last weekend, one such large flock appeared to have taken up semi-residence in a small, Whitebeam-laden park only a few miles down the road from my front door. It would have been rude, therefore, not to make the short journey to North Shields to seek them out.

Arriving at Laurel Park, a small, urban green space marked by an impressive (and somewhat creepy) statue of Stan Laurel, it wasn’t long before the birds descended. Their chiming, merry calls arriving in advance of their physical form. Filling the ears of the amassed observers – the birders, photographers and bemused locals that materialise wherever waxwings touch down – and heralding the arrival of a mid-sized flock of around thirty birds. All of which quickly took to the treetops, casting a wary eye over the kaki-clad, tripod wielding humans below.

It wasn’t long before the niggling urge to feed eclipsed the apparent cautiousness of the birds and, moments later, the flock descended en masse into the branches of a particularly bountiful whitebeam. Each individual doing their best to toss back as many plump, red berries as possible before the alarm sounded, and the birds returned to their swaying vantage point.

I enjoyed the North Shields Waxwings for a good half-hour, keen to make the most of the spectacle while it lasts. Before this particular band of nomads continue on their berry-fuelled journey elsewhere. Further south perhaps, or inland, where hedgerows and parks are yet to be plundered.

Winter wildlife doesn’t come much better than Waxwings.

An out of focus feeding frenzy

A tree-full of waxwings. Who needs baubles, eh?

Farmers are not the problem: I am, and you might be too

The recent State of Nature report paints a bleak picture of modern Britain. One in which wildlife populations tumble and wild spaces are hemmed in, degraded and destroyed. Unfortunately, most of us will recognise this as the norm and at a relatively youthful 26-years old, it worries me that this is all I have ever known.

I do not remember the halcyon days of old when verdant meadows buzzed with insect life; nor when the haunting cry of the Curlew was commonplace over farmland and hedgerows chimed with the song of countless farmland birds. These things are alien to me: a factor of life before my time. Truly, I wish I could recall such sights and sounds but the reality is that I have grown-up in a landscape denuded of its wildlife. A countryside in crisis, altered beyond recognition.

A whopping 72% of land in the UK is managed for agriculture, and changing agricultural practice is regarded as having the ‘single biggest impact upon nature in recent decades’. Changes which have seen meadows ripped up, root and stem, invertebrates annihilated with odious pesticides and larger fauna left bereft of habitat or adequate food supply. The blame for the demise of Britain’s natural heritage often falling squarely on farmers – those who alter the land, plant, plough and, if you listen to some commentators, continue to pillage what remains of our ‘wild’ land until this day.

It is very easy to blame farmers for the woes afflicting our countryside. To many, those of us dwelling contently in towns and cities, they are an alien race: found in the far-flung reaches of our land, seldom encountered yet responsible for providing the food we demand.  They are easily stereotyped and, as the hands that tend the land, are easy to label public enemy number one in times of crisis. They are, after all, those whom do the dirty, so to speak, and transform the landscape. Often to the detriment of wildlife.

Scouring social media in the wake of the aforementioned report, I noted a large number of people openly criticising the farming community. Not everyone, of course – and it was nice to observe some positive examples of cooperation between conservation bodies and farmers – but a fair few. I was tempted to join in, I confess; although upon further thought, I have come to realise that the issue is not so black and white.

The reality for farmers is that they are slaves to demand. They run businesses, large and small, which must compete and yield a profit in order to survive. When we demand cheap food in large volumes, farmers must comply or risk someone else filling the void. Our supermarkets play a sizeable role too, with rival brands competing to launch the latest ‘hot deal’ as a way to entice thrifty consumers. A cycle with knock-on effects for farmers who must then produce intensively to meet demand and ultimately, stay afloat.

It is wholly appropriate to say that it is our own shopping choices that have lead to the intensification of agriculture in the UK, and by default, our demand that directly drives the use of pesticides, the removal of hedgerows and replacement of wildlife-friendly meadows with miles upon miles of sterile crops. Looking inward, it is clear that I, as an irresponsible consumer, have played a part in the ecological crisis facing this country. And doubtless, some of you will have too.

Like a great many people I suspect, I am guilty of treating food as an afterthought. I buy what I can with what I have left, my weekly budget determined by the amount of spare money left over from the purchase of a whole manner of trivial goods – things I could likely go without. I buy as much as I can with what I have, which often means buying cheap and in bulk: meat, vegetables, fruit and grain-products all included.

Part of me would like to claim that my stingy shopping habitats are born of necessity and that I simply cannot afford to pay extra for quality or ethics. It would be all-too-easy to use a modest wage in defence of my choices, as I suspect many others would too. Whether that line would hold up under scrutiny, however, is another story entirely.

Whilst I possess only a modest sum of money each month on which to ‘get by’ it is what I spend it on that really counts. Like many people my age, I splash out on leisure – nights out, restaurants, cinema trips and ridiculous, frothy coffee – and, without doubt, spend way too much on odds and ends I could really go without. Books and homeware, jeans and magazine subscriptions, even takeaways, god forbid. Whilst I make little, if I were to cut down on these expenditures, it is clear that I would have a surprising sum leftover.

The average Briton spends a relatively small portion of their income on food, at least compared to their combined spend on culture, recreation and ‘treat’ items. A trend which simply does match up with our oft-stated desire to protect and conserve nature. It would be disingenuous, farcical even, for me to sit at a computer screen, tucking into the cheap ham and cheaper bread of my favourite sandwich, while lambasting those working the far off fields.

It is clear that farming practices (and some farmers) need to change in this country, and that change they must before what little biodiversity we have left is pushed further towards the brink. Equally, however, it is apparent that for this to happen we, the thrifty consumers of this country, must change too. We must place a growing emphasis on our food and in doing so, incentivise the change we wish to see from sellers and producers alike.

Will I change? It will be difficult, but I will try. For a part of me is ashamed of the role I have played in looming [some may say ongoing] environmental catastrophe. If forsaking the odd bottle of wine, trip abroad, hotel stay or concert is the price I must pay to contribute to the preservation of nature in this country, I am ready and willing. I may not be willing to go vegan, or even vegetarian in pursuit of a clean conscience just yet, but this represents a way for me to make a small yet real difference. It may not be much but regardless, it counts.

The State of Nature report has taught me that whilst it is easy for an economical Millenial content to snatch a three for £10.00 offer on cheap meat in Asda, to condemn those producing my food for the wrecking of nature, doing so would be dishonest. In reality, I should be looking inwards. And others should too.

Another issue of New Nature!

We’re delighted to bring you yet another edition of New Nature, the youth nature magazine. Covering September and October, the publication is jampacked with content associated with wildlife and wild spaces. You can download the latest edition for free.

For now, I will leave you with an introduction to the latest issue courtesy of outgoing Editor-in-Chief, Alexandra. Enjoy!

Autumn is a time of change; perceptible in the curl of a leaf, the early morning mist and the lingering of the moon in the late morning sky. Here at New Nature, we are undergoing some major changes too.

So it is within this letter that I take the opportunity to announce a few things; firstly we will be switching from bimonthly to quarterly to fit in with the seasons. We are a purely voluntary team and running a magazine is a full-time job, so sometimes we have to make adjustments to fit in with busy schedules. We will also be advertising for some new roles, so please keep an eye on our social media to see if there is something that could suit you – we are a lovely team to join and being a part of the magazine offers some fantastic opportunities. My final announcement is that one of those roles will be my position; Editor in Chief. I am not leaving the New Nature team completely but will be taking a step back into a background supporting role, allowing someone else to take the helm of this fantastic publication.

This is an exciting issue for me to finish on; I always love reading our writing competition entries and can say that the standard of entries has been really high! Even if you haven’t placed, we loved reading every single entry and are impressed with all of them – remember, we are always looking for contributors so if you want to send us an article we would love to hear your suggestions.

As well as selecting our competition winners (p. 20), the fantastic Dominic Couzens also talked to Lucy Hodson (p. 18) about his career in nature writing, we learn about how to take photographs ethically whilst still getting some outstanding shots with Benjamin Harris (p. 32), get some tips and advice from Danielle Conner (p.28) and Sophie May Lewis takes us through the autumnal changes she is seeing in her column about Sussex.

A huge thanks to everyone who has contributed, read or supported us at New Nature, we really appreciate it and are excited about the upcoming changes and hope that you will be too.

Alexandra Pearce-Broomhead, Editor-in-Cheif