Tag: City Nature

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

Staying sane in the heart of the city

Growing up in semi-rural Northumberland, I have long been accustomed to residing in scenic and ecologically diverse areas. I am used to the presence of bustling nature reserves a mere stones throw from my front door and green-fringed streets ringing with the chirrup of Tree Sparrows; I am accustomed to having a garden, complete with frogs, visiting squirrels and jampacked bird feeders; and, above all else, am accustomed to my daily life being wholly intertwined with nature. Never, not once in my lifetime, have I taken this for granted, but such things have long been the norm.

Six months ago now, I moved to the city: Newcastle Upon Tyne, to be precise. A city which, despite its merits, is just like any other: complete with traffic, concrete, artificial lighting, pubs, clubs, shops, bustling high-streets and transport links – all the factors that have come to define human dominion over the land. The soundtrack to my days here made up of anthropogenic sounds, as opposed to natural ones: the hum of engines, the screeching of brakes and rumble of passing metros where once, birdsong and swaying leaves reigned supreme. No longer can I nip out and lose myself in fields, wetlands or woodlands – a culture shock, to say the least, which has uprooted all that I have grown pleasantly familiar with.

Like most cities, Newcastle poses a real challenge for those living within its reaches who aim to create a life built around nature. Here, the rhythm of life is more hectic, commutes are more tedious and less scenic, quiet moments are few and far between and nature, as a whole, appears muted – diminished somewhat by myriad distractions thrown up by daily life. So much so that those who seek wilderness and harmony in nature are forced adopt new habits, routes and tendencies so to sate there lust for a wild-life. Or else risk going entirely mad.

While I have lost touch with the wild spaces I encountered daily prior to my move, I have come to realise that wilderness does exist in the city. Albeit scattered and defined by a new set of rules – far from the undulating hills, sprawling woodlands and shimmering wetlands present elsewhere but here and alive, nonetheless. Of these, our parks are the obvious candidate for adventure, though they are not alone. And wilderness, in its modern form, exists all around, ready to be snatched and savoured in the forlorn space separating railway lines from civilisation; in flowerbeds tended less than half as often as they should be; and in the overgrown, tangled grounds of offices, stores and public amenities. Wildland present among the gravestones of cemeteries, between pavement stones, in window boxes, gardens and lone, roadside trees. Places I would have ignored previously which now keep me sane during my time spent living and working in the midst of this churning sea of man and his creations.

Perhaps we celebrate wildlife more when it is obscured or in short supply? Perhaps we notice nature more when expectations are diminished by circumstance and ecological horror stories about the urban realm? Either way, I now find myself able to delight in the simplest of wild sights: in the pioneering Dunnock nesting in the base of an overgrown roadside Fuschia, in the bumblebees which visit the ornamental blooms adjacent to my house; and in the vibrant flowerheads of Oxford Ragwort poking up through cracked pavement slabs and home to countless, vibrant Cinnabar caterpillars. Small snippets of natural beauty in the heart of the cold, grey city, snatched on my daily ventures which now, after the initial upheaval, balm worry and yearning.

Now, while wilderness in its traditional sense is denied to me by daily life, I have been forced to rethink my definition of the wilds and alter the ways in which I seek them. Here, I must look harder and appreciate all life, regardless of scarcity or grandeur, and in doing so, visit places I would have bypassed, ignorant, a few short months ago. The forgotten places, the “wild” places, home to species who deserve respect and admiration for their resilience, if nothing else – etching out a living in spite of the wholesale changes thrust upon the landscape here.

Staying sane in the city is a matter of optimism and observation. And life here is not all that bad when you alter the way in which you view nature. I could, if I wished, venture forth to the empty, beautiful places I yearned for previously during moments of free time but now, after all this, I am not sure I want to. The intrepid Mistle Thrush nesting in the grounds of Newcastle’s Civic Centre and the fox that prowls the streets of Heaton by night are far too entertaining.

Oh, and erecting a few bird feeders certainly helps too…

An Ode to the City

I’ve dedicated much of my time to urban wildlife watching of late, specifically in and around the city of Newcastle – my home patch for the foreseeable future due to a recent change of circumstances. While previously I possessed only a modicum of interest for the nature here, amid the hustle and bustle, perpetual light and clamorous noise of the city, I have been pleasantly surprised by what she has offered me thus far. Specifically, by the wild intrigue unearthed down each alley and sidestreet, around each corner, on rooftops and wasteland alike.

Newcastle is a wild city: a wilderness, not in the traditional sense applied to the rugged coastline of the Hebrides, the windswept heathlands of Exmoor, or even the open expanses of Northumberland closer to home, but a wilderness nonetheless. An urban jungle whose heart beats to the same seasonal rhythm that natural history puritans hold dear in the wider countryside – the tune altered somewhat by the actions of successive generations dating way back to the time of Hadrian, obstructed but never once extinguished. Here, in Newcastle, the players may have changed, as old residents are extirpated, and new ones arrive to fill the void, but ultimately, the game remains the same.

As with most cities up and down the country, the wildlife of Newcastle is not restricted to the rats, pigeons, gulls and geese so many of us have come to associate with urban life. We have all four in abundance, of course, but here too foxes and hedgehogs roam in the shadows, starlings mimic car alarms atop the lofty pinnacles of radio antennae and red admirals sap goodness from windfall apples in carefully manicured gardens.

At the peak of Summer, roadsides and rooftops alike are painted lilac and white by the blooms of buddleia and house martins feed ravenous young in the eaves of the decrepit student houses. In Autumn, the leaves of oak and beech redden and fall; while by Winter, as flurries of snow tumble down in quick succession and ice forms, wildfowl gather on diminishing lakes – ready and willing to exploit the bread fed to them by local children.

The species mentioned above are, more or less, those one would associate with a typical city – adaptive natives and tenacious colonists. In Newcastle, however, surprises lie around every corner. Here, in Winter, Snipe feed on abandoned land too boggy to build on; while common terns haunt the air over parkland ponds, gliding over the heads of fishermen and unwitting walkers alike. Here too Stock Doves share the air with their feral kin, otters move by evening under the glaring light of quayside restaurants and the world’s most inland colony of kittiwakes thrives in the face of adversity and occasional human ill-will.  Hidden gems each and all who, alongside their more conspicuous counterparts, form the foundations of the urban ecosystem.

Life for urban wildlife is fraught with difficulties: development, disturbance, degradation; the loss of traditional feeding sites and breeding abodes. There are new predators to evade, invasive competitors vying for scant resources, roads, pollution and, occasionally human ignorance to contend with. Yet, despite all this, opportunity also exists. New food sources, habitats and homes to exploit, generous humans ready and willing to offer a helping hand and, in certain areas, forgotten zones, abandoned by man, providing a home away from home for species of a more rural inclination. The clingers on – relics from a far greener and more pleasant time.

Wildlife watching is the city is not what it seems: confounding and about as far from boring as you can get, contrary to popular belief. Walks here, much like anywhere else in the countryside, accompanied by a sense of quiet anticipation, wonder and hope for things to come. Simply put, it is intriguing, in the finest sense of the word, and truly, you never know what you will find in the gardens, green spaces and grey areas of this Northern municipality.

Scrutinising the wildlife of the city over the past few weeks has taught me a few things: the virtues of patience and an adventurous nature foremost, but also to not accept the norm in life or nature. Not to form my opinions and plan my outings based on the experiences of others, those who extoll the praises of the wilderness and wildland in their traditional sense. As such, and with a certain degree of trepidation – it could all go horribly wrong – I have made myself a promise ahead of the New Year.

In 2018, I will largely abandon the countryside. Forsaking the fields, woodlands and coastal dunes of my regular haunts in favour of a new kind of wilderness – the urban one. In doing so I hope to uncover the secrets of Newcastle, a place I have visited often since birth but fear I have never truly understood, through which natures pulse flows unchallenged throughout the seasons, much as it does anywhere else on our small, crowded island.

Stay tuned…

Waxwing. A city treasure photographed earlier this year. What will 2018 hold I wonder?