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.
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.
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
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.
As butterflies and newts are spotted in December, earlier than nature intended, scientists warn thatspecies 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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
A week ago, I begrudgingly returned home from a spur of the moment family holiday in Crete – a part of Europe I had yet to visit which, in retrospect, turned out to be rather beautiful. The week was marked by blissful temperatures, great food, a lively local culture and numerous excursions on foot to investigate the natural history of the rugged, olive-riddled land around Elounda.
As ever, birds formed the basis of most of my forays. The undisputed highlight of my time here comes from the countless Griffon Vultures noted high above the crags to the rear of our apartment. An undeniably awe-inspiring species which I will never tire of, joined on occasion by the odd Buzzard, Kestrel and, as the week drew to a close, a Golden Eagle lazily riding the thermals thrust upwards from the crumbling limestone escarpment. I am led to believe that Golden Eagles are not all that abundant on the island, thus I am quite happy with this one.
Elsewhere, multiple trips into the tightly-packed olive growths carpeting the land around Elounda provided some welcome sightings. A small flock of European Beeater, kaleidoscopic in the midday sun; a pair of Red-backed Shrike, multiple Blue Rock Thrush and a healthy number of both Crested Lark and Sardinian Warbler. Species one would struggle to encounter in the UK. Although, that said, more familiar species were abundant also: the gnarled old trees, rife with succulent purple fruits, teeming with Spotted Flycatcher, Willow Warbler, Great Tit, Goldfinch and House Sparrow – at least some of which turned out the be Italian Sparrow. The persistent kronking of Ravens overhead, a welcome soundtrack to the week’s sweaty wanders.
A further highlight came from the swirling mixed flocks of hirundines and swifts noted early each day in the skies above the resort. Familiar species, House Martin and Barn Swallow, mixed with the less familiar shapes of Crag Martin and Red-rumped Swallow. As for the swifts, it was lovely to finally gain good views of Alpine and Pallid Swift.
Scrutinising the botanical community of the local area, it was interesting (if a little troubling) to note the sheer abundance of invasive species present within what was a relatively small corner of the island. Prickly Pear, Opuntia ficus-indica, and fearsome looking Eve’s-pin Cactus, Austrocylindropuntia subulata, added an element of peril to walks in rocky areas; whilst sprawling drifts of Hottentot Fig, Carpobrotus edulis, carpeted the ground in more shaded locations. Add to these no end of Century Plant, Agave americana, naturalised Hibiscus and Aloe Vera and the problems facing this Mediterranean Island become quite clear. The sheer domination of invasive species here is further emphasised by the presence in a wild setting of three species familiar from my own living room: Jade, Crassula ovata, Mother of Thousands, Bryophyllum daigremontianum, and African Milk Tree, Euphorbia trigona.
I should note that I did also find time to enjoy some native botanicals, albeit those that had not yet withered beyond recognition due to lack of rainfall. A personal favourite coming from the curious looking Exploding Cucumber, Ecballium elaterium.
Exploding Cucumber (Ecballium elaterium)
Moving on to the insect life present in close proximity to our temporary abode and as far as butterflies go, pickings were surprisingly slim. The most abundant species being Painted Lady, closely followed by the stunning Swallowtail. The smaller blues, warmed and energised by the persistent sun, were far too quick to identify, unfortunately. Although, multiple run-ins with Hummingbird Hawk-moth more than made up for this. As did my first encounter with the Cretan Cicada, Cicada cretensis.
Generally speaking, insects were few and far between on Crete. By far the most prevalent, at least in terms of biomass, were the hornets which, despite spreading fear among the ranks of the countless tourists beached around the pool, proved far from intimidating. Initially, I had assumed these were European Hornet; although upon closer inspection, they turned out to be Oriental Hornet, Vespa orientalis. A new species for me and one whose European distribution is limited only to Greece and other nations in the Southeast.
The abundance of hornets in the area was matched only by that of the aptly named Black-and-Red-bug, Lygaeus equestris. A species which managed to find its way everywhere: from inside our room, to inside my glass of Ouzo on more than one occasion. Numbers, however, are not everything and an honourable mention goes to the large, impressive and extremely vivid Socalid Wasp pictured below. I confess that I have not been able to identify this species. Any thoughts?
These are only a few observations from what was a holiday intended not as a ‘nature expedition’ but as an opportunity to relax and catch up with family. As I am sure readers of this blog will testify, however, it is difficult not to at least try to observe wildlife when travelling abroad. I, for one, am quite satisfied with the variety of life unearthed in the vicinity of Elounda, particularly given my inability to travel further afield, and would very much like to revisit the island in the future. This time, with the express intent of observing and enjoying the more iconic species that call Crete home.
The problem with living in any city, whether that be London, Manchester or, like me, Newcastle, is that space is often at a premium. Large expansive gardens and idyllic personal grottos are few and far between and, more often than not, residents are forced to make do with small, confined and often uninspiring spaces.
Living in Heaton, a large urban district of Newcastle, our terraced flat comes with very little land. A small back garden, walled on all sides and entirely covered in concrete the sum of the area we have to work with. Our mundane little plot lacked even a small patch of soil in which to grow something, anything green. Far from ideal for someone who yearns to engross himself in nature whenever possible.
Tired of staring uninspired at bricks, steel and concrete, back in the Spring, and my partner set ourselves a small challenge: to attempt to ‘green up’ our little corner of urban Tyneside. In doing so, aiming to make our space as appealing as possible to as many different species as possible. The sum of our garden wildlife sightings, until this point, consisted of little other than a handful of moths and the odd wandering Magpie.
Starting out…
The cornerstone of any garden the first thing we needed to add in order to make our space wildlife-friendly was, of course, soil. And so we set about buying planters of all shapes and sizes – long and shallow, round and deep, hanging, you name it – collected with the aim of growing as many plant species as possible. Including, we had hoped, at least a few edibles, alongside pollinator-friendly blooms and a few ornamentals. Within a few weeks, these initial pots and troughs had been filled: Honeysuckle, Lavander, Thyme, petunias and Bay Laurel representing the first living organisms to grace our plot.
A few weeks later, and lacking space for any substantial body of water, we opted to add a container pond, planting the admittedly rather unattractive plastic tub with a handful of native water plants – Marsh Marigold, Hemlock Waterdropwort and Flag iris. A mini-project closely followed by another with the addition of two mini-meadows – pots planted with Seedball wildflower mixes – and next, a raised bed suitable for our edible produce. The latter soon filled to bursting with chillis, lettuce, Bok Choi and later, a few more varieties of cabbage. Following this, more plants were added. Taller wildlife-friendly options – Raspberry and Blackcurrant – and a range of low-lying species.
Getting there (I promise Matt did not do ALL of the work)
Fast-forward to the end of Summer and, at the time of writing this, the garden – I finally feel comfortable using this word – looks altogether more pleasant. Looking out of the window this morning, I see pleasant green, not grey. And all in all, our space feels altogether different: uplifting as opposed to depressing. The results of our exploits can be seen below for those interested.
The current state of play…
But what of the all-important wildlife? Did it descent on our humble space en masse, as we had intended? Well, yes. To date, we have recorded no less than 66 new species for the garden. The pollinators arrived first, Tree, White-tailed, Red-tailed and Garden Bumblebees, Honeybee, Common Wasp, Common Carder, Marmalade Hoverfly and Large White butterflies representing a few of the more obvious visitors. Among the more common denizens, a few surprises were to be had too – the unlikely discovery of a small, metallic bee deceased in our new bug hotel heralding the arrival of a species which, before its occurrence here, I had never even heard of: the Bronze Furrow Bee. A species with a patchy national distribution; poorly recorded and not overly abundant.
Next came the Red Mason Bees – now in residence within a crack in our neighbour’s wall – while moth numbers to have increased also. Silver Y, Angle Shades, Setaceous Hebrew Character, Heart and Dart, Light Brown Apple Moth and Large Yellow Underwing respecting just a few of our nocturnal records. A more surprising record coming from a Six-spot Burnet found during the day on our Runner Beans in July – not a species I would often associate with the less than wild streets of Newcastle.
Heart and Dart, Angle Shades, Slug-fest, and a bumble rescue.
Of course, with a range of tasty edible crops planted, it was inevitable that ‘pest’ species would follow at some point. And sure enough, they did: our cabbages were besieged by the larvae of Small White and Diamond-backed Moth; our Honeysuckle fell victim to aphids; we lost an entire crop of Swiss Chard to Cabbage Fly and Yellow Cellar Slugs and Garden Snails were quick to find any seedlings. Interesting species in their own right which, in turn, have sparked an increase in other, much more welcome creatures: 7 and 14 Spot Ladybirds, colourful members of the Ichneumonoidea family, Harvestman, centipedes, beautiful Garden Spiders and fearsome-looking House Spiders. Now, equilibrium has been reached and plants remain relatively damage-free.
For the last few weeks, new additions to our growing ‘garden list’ have followed thick and fast. A fortnight back, we were delighted to discover no less than 9 Painted Lady at roost beneath one of our hanging baskets. This morning, they’re still there; although numbers have dwindled somewhat. Elsewhere, Matt discovered a Buff Ermine caterpillar ravenously consuming our small Buddleia plant and today, a glance in our container pond revealed a few new colonists: water fleas and hoverfly larvae.
Now, I will not go so far as to claim that our little urban garden looks all that nice. Nor does it compare to the micro-rewilding efforts often shared on social media – those wonderful tales of gardens transformed into makeshift nature reserves, gorgeous and incredibly biodiverse. We are definitely proud, however, to have created something beneficial to local wildlife and enjoyable (and useful, taking into account all our veggies) to ourselves. We stand content to watch and enjoy for the remainder of this year and already find ourselves looking forward to amending our space further in the future, so to make more of a difference. Perhaps we will invest in a creeper to cover some of the remaining walls, or just maybe, we’ll expand on our mini-meadows with another of our bargain grow beds. We will see!
On a final note, I must apologise for the quality of the photos used in this article – it seems there has been a problem uploading photos from my phone to the computer. Not that this presents too much of an issue, they still get the point across.
Orchids capture the popular imagination to a far greater extent than any other group of plants. Indeed, birders, entomologists, mammal-watchers – those who would never, under normal circumstances, label themselves a botanist – often find themselves weak and the knees and enraptured by their blooms. Perhaps this is due to visual appeal – orchids are undeniably striking – or perhaps this is due to rarity. Many orchids, after all, require a certain degree of ‘seeking out’ due to their incredibly particular habitat preferences and constrained distributions. Who knows; although I confess, I too am guilty of holding these plants in high regard.
In my free moments over the past fortnight, I opted to set out in search of the orchid species to be found in my local area: both abundant and altogether more scarce. A mini-expedition, of sorts, intended to provide some much needed wild respite and get me looking downward, instead of up for a change.
First on the agenda was the Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera), that family insect-mimicking of base-rich soils, so named due to flowers bee-shaped lip. The aim of the plant’s mimicry being to attract passing male bees and tempt them to mate, thus pollinating the flower in the process. It is worth noting that Bee Orchids in the UK self pollinate, so this deception boasts little practical application on our shores; although it does provide a draw to the would-be orchid watcher.
Prowling the expanses of a reclaimed spoil heap in urban North Tyneside, it wasn’t long until I stumbled across my first orchid. It’s flower spike standing tall amid atop a matt of Creeping Cinquefoil – easily seen and altogether conspicuous. With further scrutiny, another 23 spikes were observed making for a fine start to proceedings.
Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera)
Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera)
Moving on the coast a few days later, I was keen to catch up with another insect-namesake. Albeit an altogether scarcer species which, until now, I had not been lucky enough to observe in the wild. Making a bee-line for Northumberland Wildlife Trust’s fabulous East Chevington reserve, it wasn’t long before I was face-to-flower with a number of altogether less garish Lesser Butterfly Orchids (Platanthera bifolia). During my stay, I counted a healthy number of the delicate, ivory-hued flowerheads – not bad given the precarious state of this threatened species in the wider countryside.
Also at Chevingtin, vast numbers of Common Spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii) were noted, ranging in colour from pristine white to deep purple. Here too, a number of altogether less striking Common Twayblade (Listera ovata) were observed. A green orchid amid a sea of green grasses, hardly awe-inspiring. Instead, the most interesting thing about these plants was their foliage – plump, succulent leaves forming almost a cradle from which the spikes emerged. Quite similar to the ornamental Phalaenopsis orchids many of us possess at home.
Common Twayblade (Listera ovata)
Common Spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii)
Lesser Butterfly Orchid (Platanthera bifolia)
Last but not least and a further two orchid species were observed inadvertently on recent outings. The first, Heath Spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza maculata) growing in abundance across a lovely area of heath on Anglesey, enjoyed during a failed hunt for Marsh Fritillary, no less. Closer to home, and an avian-fueled ramble around Rising Sun Country Park in North Tyneside came up trumps with a number of deep purple Northern Marsh Orchid (Dactylorhiza purpurella). Their chubby, rounded flower-stems standing in stark contrast to the greens and yellows that surrounded them.
I hope to hunt out a few more arguably more impressive orchid species in my local area over the coming weeks.
