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.
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.
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.
It’s the moment you have all been waiting for – well, some of you at least. The latest edition of New Nature magazine, covering July and August, is out now and can be viewed at your leisure here: http://bit.ly/2XxKp1d
We are well into the summer months now and I hope you are all enjoying your various holidays, taking every opportunity to enjoy this season’s nature offerings.
Spring has always been the season of new beginnings and change – and that is something that I hope we have been seeing in the last few months. Whether you agree or not with Extinction Rebellion’s methods, they have certainly brought the subject of climate change to the forefront of everybody’s minds.
Here at New Nature, climate change is an important subject to us too. Which is why in this issue, we are asking you to send in your thoughts and feelings about climate change and the future of our planet (p46). Another thing which is new this month is some of our team! We have welcomed several new team members, so say hello to Jess Hamilton, Emily Seccombe, Emily Cooper and Hannah Rudd, and check out more about them on our team page. (p4)
As well as that we have lots of fantastic articles for you to enjoy, so kick back on your beach towel and get stuck in! We travel to Northern Ireland for our places to go this issue (p10), then dive down into the depths where we learn about limpets with Elliot Chandler (p20), investigate maerl beds with Harriet Gardiner (p22), learn about the importance of plankton with Sam Street (p36) and get up close to British sharks with Hannah Rudd
(p14).
Thanks so much for joining us for another issue – and as always, we want to hear from you, so please get in touch to share your views, photographs and articles!
Yesterday I joined a walk on Wimbledon Common led by Peter Fiennes, author of an absorbing and beautiful book on trees. Oak, Ash and Thorn sets out the case for Britain’s woodland and I liked the idea of discussing this subject within the woodland itself. We gathered, rather aptly, under an oak, its crown providing a natural awning for the speaker and his audience. Peter told us how the book came into being, a response to the proposed selling of the country’s forests by the government in 2010, and how it led him to spend a year exploring the woodland of Britain.
This late Spring walk followed a rambling route through the oak and chestnut woods of the Common, with Peter pausing to enlighten us on the subject of woodlands and the myths, folk tales and opinion surrounding them. Winding down a footpath, we stopped at the base of a holly tree reaching far above our heads. The trailing fronds of the holly had a sense of mysticism and even awe, and we learnt that a holly leaf in a man’s pocket would bring him luck in love. We paused at an ancient yew and admired a resplendent chestnut, before passing through a small clearing where oak and birch saplings were growing. Free from the grazing of sheep and deer this was rewilding in action, Peter told us. After more than six years walking on the Common, I discovered a pair of lime trees to be growing deep in its depths; bright green, roundish leaves seeming all the brighter against the dark trunks and earthy woodland floor. Inspired by the location, and our guide, the conversation very quickly turned to trees, and we galloped through the merits of woodlands, street trees, and London’s parks and commons with passion. This walk was part of the Urban Tree Festival, promoting awareness of trees in London. There are all sorts of reasons why we benefit from trees, but this afternoon I was particularly conscious of the calm I felt on leaving the woodland. As we returned to our meeting place, drops of rain began to fall and grey skies suggested more was to come. I ambled back along a well-trodden path to my car. The sweet scent of elderflower filled my nostrils and the rampant brambles promised a good gathering of fruit this summer.
Passing the great green mound of Box Hill on my route home, I took a spontaneous decision to stop the car and get out. I scrambled up and within minutes had a vista of trees in every direction. Green overlaid on green, with shades and shapes so different and yet so in harmony with each other that I could look at them for hours. There was no rain here, and I paused to sit on bouncy turf for a moment. This was a wonderful spot, out on the hillside with a sea of green, and a fitting end to a tree-filled day. Go now, walk amongst the trees, and leave with a lighter mind.
Common By Nature, the blog you are perusing at this very moment in time, has taken the ‘Highly Commended’ position in the nature and wildlife category of tonights UK Blog Awards, and it looks like I owe readers of this blog a whopping great thank you!
Truth be told, I haven’t published much in the way of content this year. That’s mainly because I now write, tweet and read for a living as a communications officer, and therefore, can’t quite face the prospect of spending yet more hours stuck to my screen upon returning home. That said, what I have published throughout late 2018 and early 2019 has clearly been well received and, as ever, I am incredibly grateful to everyone who stops by this blog from time to time.
This blog has been many things over the years and has focused on many different kinds of content. I have ranted and raved, complained and praised, shared sightings and trip reports and, ultimately, endeavoured to communicate my love of the natural world to anyone who cares enough to listen. Just as I was beginning to doubt that I have the time, energy and motivation to keep doing so, this welcome news has changed my mind. It seems some people like reading this blog; thus I’ll continue to post as often as I can! Promise.
Huge thanks once again to everyone who cast a vote during the earlier stages of the competition, and to the marvellous Kate on Conservation who cast the final vote.
Britain’s cities have served as the epicentre for countless invasions over the years. Landing sites, if you would, where species from far-flung destinations – East Asia, North America and closer to home, in Europe – gain first a toe-hold before beginning their creeping advance across the land. Here, in the city, the wheels of countless vehicles transport seeds, tenacious pioneers breach the walls of their manicured garden cells and unwitting homeowners provide an endless supply of food, sustaining some feral beings on their quest towards colonisation.
Yesterday, I decided to pause and look. To take a moment to seek out the non-native species with whom I share my street (a small area of no more than 300m). I must confess, I was quite surprised – many, it seems, find the urban realm much to their liking.
Rising triumphantly between the pavement slabs that line the street adjacent to the fractured glass of the bus stop from which I make my daily commutes, the obnoxious yellow blooms of the day’s first invader add an unseasonal touch of colour at a time when little if anything, should flower. Oxford Ragwort, a native to the lava fields of Sicily, so named for the botanical gardens where the plant was first grown in the 1700s, clearly at home in the cracks and crevices provided by splitting concrete and crumbling wall.
Oxford Ragwort and Red Valerian growing side by side
So prolific is the ragwort here that it is easily the most frequently encountered ‘wildflower’ on the street, rivalled only by the less widespread yet thriving swaths of Red Valerian – another Mediterranean immigrant – which likewise finds the degrading stonework here to its liking. Both do well here, despite an annual dose of herbicide courtesy of the local council.
The invading botanicals here appear to have organised themselves quite well into some semblance of a natural, tiered community. While ragwort and valerian dominate at ground level, Buddleia prevails at altitude: standing tall in neglected gardens, atop walls, on rooftops and even chimney stacks. The dominant species in the sparse canopy of the street which, brick-breaking tendencies aside, I actually find myself gazing upon fondly. This invader, perhaps more so than the others, provides a boon to insects [and those who enjoy them] throughout the summer months.
While I see Buddleia everywhere I look on my street, some new arrivals are just beginning to gain a toehold. Along the railway lines some 25m from my front door, patches of much-maligned Japanese Knotweed have now appeared. In cracks and crannies on the sunnier side of the street, Trailing Bellflower – a native to the Alps – has begun to creep gradually from garden to garden. Each plant set to paint the stonework here a pleasant blue later in the year. There are others too: a passing glance at the exposed soil at the base of nearby lampost revealing a small, nondescript holly-shaped plant. Not our native Holly at all, in fact, but Oregon Grape – a spiny import from Western North America where, in its natural environment, it forms a dense understory in the shade of towering Douglas Firs. It will find no fir trees here – not that it will be deterred.
Heading to the local park, keen to seek out something, anything, which truly belongs, a piercing shriek and a series of gleeful whistles herald the arrival of another uninvited guest. Sure enough, moments later, a lurid green parakeet emerges atop a budding sycamore. A bird hailing from East Asia, perched in a tree of Eastern European origin looking out across a street laden with arrivals of North America, Italy and China… all in one tiny corner of Britain.
Say what you will about invasive species, they do, in my opinion, deserve some degree of respect for carving out a home in what are often entirely unnatural settings. Some are damaging, some are relatively harmless, but all are interesting.
It is nothing short of delightful to see New Nature Magazine going from strength to strength following its conception in late 2016. It’s exquisite design and fabulous content are testament to the young volunteers who dedicate their time, freely, to amplifying the voices of the next generation. It is with great pleasure that I can announce the launch of our March-April edition, available to download free here: bit.ly/2tZf32s
A description of what you can expect in this issue can be found below courtesy of Editor-in-Cheif, Alice Johnson.
The sun shines stronger now, down on deciduous trees that feel the warmth as their buds begin to open; snowdrops adorn woodland floors, as winter turns into spring. Many of us have patiently waited for the moment that signals the season has finally changed – a flutter of an orange tip butterfly as it floats through the air, or the first glimpse of a swallow dashing through the sky.
In this spring issue of New Nature, we urge you to get outside and enjoy the first joys of the season – some bird species, like common crossbill and raven, have already begun the task of rearing young, find out more from Elliot Chandler on p8. Take inspiration for a springtime walk from Lucy Hodson’s book review of Kate Humble’s Thinking on My Feet (p48), a must-read for any lover of the outdoors. If the day still holds the chill of winter and you want to stay wrapped up warm inside, then take a literary walk along the Sefton Coast with Hannah Branwood (p10), or discover the joys of skylark watching on the South Downs from Sophie May Lewis (p16).
As always our conservation-minded contributors have penned their thoughts on some interesting and sometimes concerning topics – Ryan Deal considers the effect of artificial lighting on wildlife (p35), while Carla Broom evaluates conservation grazing (p33). Harry Househam from the Berkshire, Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire Wildlife Trust also shares with us the Trust’s new project, ‘Nature Stewards of the Future, which is aimed at young wildlife lovers and conservationists – learn what it is all about on p26. For readers looking for advice on how to turn their plot into a wildlife haven, go to p22 where I speak to Brigit Strawbridge about gardening for bees and the importance of pollinators. If you want to marvel in some inspiring art and photography, then we have it covered, too! Alex Pearce chats to the incredible artist Rob Arnold who uses plastic litter to create thought-provoking pieces (p38), and Matt Roseveare shares with us his fantastic wildlife shots from the New Forest (p42). We are also excited to announce the New Nature writing competition is back, this year judged by Dominic Couzens! Find out how to enter on p46.
Thank you to all of our fantastic contributors and our readers as always, and remember to share your springtime wildlife moments with us on our social media channels for a chance to have them featured in the magazine.
I’ve been making a conscious effort, since January 1st, to notice nature in the grey bleakness of the city in winter. One morning last week, buttoned up against the irrepressible sleet and the bitter cold, I was walking fast through an industrial park in South London, having deposited my car at the mechanic. Following my nose, I headed for a gap between two walls, where, sure enough, there was a footpath that cuts through the buildings and then came out, completely unexpectedly, alongside a river. Three long-tailed tits bobbed from twig to twig in a bush in front of me and a robin manned a post on the footbridge. The red, straight twigs of the dogwood brightened the riverbank and the swish of the water over the little weir was a pleasant sound. By the time I reached the bus stop, the sun had come out and the streets glistened after their cold shower.
The following day was a windy one and I took a walk along the river. On impulse, I turned right through a small gate and into the nature reserve that lies between the Thames path here and the road. There’s a steep incline as you scramble a few paces up the bank to join the footpath that follows the edge of the reservoir. I reached the top and caught my breath. For a moment, I felt as if the entire population of ring-necked parakeets had arranged a party in the branches above my head. They were perched at all levels in a plane tree, holding animated conversations with each other. The squawks weren’t going to stop soon so I walked on, the river to my left and reservoir to my right; I was walking through the water, with the security of knowing I was on dry land. Three herons, sitting on three different bundles of twigs, surveyed the world from their watery look-out posts. Two Egyptian geese flew over my head to settle in a plane tree, from where they produced deep honking squawks to rival those of the parakeets. I came down from my river road and through the gate back onto the path, the greyness not bleak, but beautiful in a subtle way.
On Sunday I visited an exhibition at the William Morris Gallery in East London. It centred on the depiction of the garden, of cultivated nature, in paint and textiles. Light shone from the works, not only in the sun-filled skies of one or two but from the greens of the leaves, the lawns and the vines enveloping the brick walls. A painting by Pissaro epitomised the sense of light oozing from the paintings, in which there was often just as much green as yellow. This was a bright, colourful collection and we left inspired by its cheerful optimism. After a mooch around the rest of the gallery, where nature is a constant inspiration in Morris’ designs, we headed out to the gardens behind the house. Despite the bitter cold, a spontaneous desire to be in nature, however, cultivated, seems to have prevailed; we were now really amongst the green, the birdsong and the floral designs that were yet to appear in the formal beds. The light, in the clear sky of the late afternoon, though faded to sunset by the time we reached the road to go home, had lit up every branch and shrub with its brightness. Nature imitating art, imitating nature.
Dawn broke overhead as I took my first, adrenaline-fueled steps into the reedbeds of Gosforth Park Nature Reserve, the grey-blue sky, a vestige of the previous frigid night, soon yielding to pleasant silver as the day got underway. The only lasting remnant of the darker, colder hours before coming from the veil of fog lingering above the water and creeping over the browned stems of Phragmites like pale milk over cereal; although soon, this too was banished.
From the maze of twisted stems fringing the boardwalk, a Water Rail called. A piercing, unsavoury shriek oft compared to the sound of a pained hog, though too a welcome note of wilderness. Behind, in a riparian thicket, the harsh call of a Willow Tit, a grating cha bem bem bem, burst forth. A scarce sound these days – the species falling silent across the length and breadth of Britain – though thankfully, one that can still be heard, and savoured, here in the North. A surprisingly jarring sound for such a small, seemingly reclusive bird.
The notes of Reed Bunting and Blue Tit and the whistling of Wigeon serenaded me as I made my way to the hide – fresh morning air and the allure of place ensuring that any remnants of the Christmas stupor were dispelled. The vision of tranquillity observed while peeping out from the narrow, wooden windows like something from a card received days earlier: calm, blissful, serene. The water’s surface awash with the scattered forms of Teal, Gadwall, Shoveler and Tufted Duck, as well as the Wigeon, heard earlier, entrancing to such an extent that I almost missed the furtive character breaking cover to my left.
The encounter was over in an instant: the Bittern lifting upwards from the reeds absent sound, the intricate pattern of the bird’s plumage visible momentarily as, wings splayed and stilt-like legs dangling, it passed above the channel before blending seamlessly into the reeds once more. Vanishing completely in a split second as feathers and fronds became one once again. A momentous sight – a first for me here, no less – and a fitting precursor to further encounters to come. Indeed, for half an hour afterwards, I enjoyed tantalising views of some three Bitterns.
Bittern breaking cover – if only I had been quicker off the mark
Departing the cover of the softly quivering blanket of reeds, I opted to follow a muddy trail through the wood. My steps mirroring those of the countless Roe Deer who had trekked this way prior – the evidence of their morning march present in the slot marks crisscrossing the ground, each way I looked. Overhead, in the branches of a denuded oak, a Great Spotted Woodpecker peered down, cautious but unmoving and, as I eventually quit dawdling and departed, another passed overhead in undulating flight – heading like a guided-missile towards the woods makeshift cafe.
Having only chanced upon a handful of people during my morning at Gosforth, the visit certainly made for a pleasant change to the hectic ‘meet and greet’ of the past few, festive days.
I started this website as a place to express my interest in the natural world and to share sightings and photographs from my local ventures. Truth be told, I never planned to start writing; although five-years in, here I am, waffling regularly about myriad environmental topics and thoroughly enjoying myself.
Blogging, ultimately, is about finding your voice and learning things for yourself, although there are a few things I wish I’d known when starting out. Simple snippets of advice that would have made a real difference throughout periods of uncertainty. To that end, I am thrilled to announce a new collaboration with the wonderful Kate Stephenson, author of Kate on Conservation, bringing you a collection of our ‘top 10’ tips for emerging nature bloggers. I hope at least one may be of use…
1…Research
It takes a lot of dedication and commitment to keep a fact-based blog and, sometimes unwittingly, you may find yourself becoming a trusted source of information to others. If people look to you as an expert on your topic (which is surely the goal, right?!); you better know your stuff. You and your blog can lose a lot of credibility if you write things that turn out to be inaccurate or unreliable. My top tip for keeping credibility is to cover the gaps in your knowledge by interviewing others who do know the bits that you don’t. Guests posts from other professionals work well too — especially if there’s a topic you think you SHOULD cover, but don’t quite have the expertise!
2…Never overlook context and background
Sure; we can’t explain every detail of every issue affecting a species in each and every blog post – but if your aim is to help raise awareness, it’s important to explain the basics at least. For example, those of us well versed in conservation issues are likely to be familiar with terms such as ‘NGOs’, ‘CITES’ or ‘canned hunting’, but if you’re wanting to reach out to a new audience, or to educate those who may not already be a part of this ‘conservation world’, simply explaining: NGOs – Non-governmental organisations; CITES – the yearly Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora; or canned hunting; the shooting of lions for trophies in an enclosed space, known as ‘the can’, can make a huge difference to how effective your writing is.
Also, never take for granted that your readers will have chronologically followed each of your posts! Just because you explained something in a previous post, it doesn’t mean the readers of this particular piece will have seen it, or even remember what it means.
3… Be daring and, dare I say it, controversial
Blogging is a great way of addressing contentious issues and there is nothing wrong with stirring the pot a little, providing you don’t overdo it. It’s a risky business but addressing the polarising issues in the environmental field – hunting, land-use and invasive species, for example – is a great way to bolster traffic and increase engagement. Of course, many of those commenting may disagree with you, but providing you conduct yourself well, there is no harm in addressing sensitive issues. Blogging, in the purest sense, is about generating conversation.
4… But remember, be accountable
Addressing the controversial aspects of conservation is all well and good but it is worth remembering that whatever you share on your blog will reside in cyberspace for years to come. Avoid misquoting or exaggerating for impact and make a point of being able to justify the words you publish. We all must be accountable for what we write, and truly, you never know when your previous posts might remerge to bite you, or at least instigate an interesting conversation in a job interview. If in doubt, don’t do it, but please do not be deterred – there is nothing wrong with holding an opinion.
5…You’re likely to rock the boat
Wildlife conservation can ignite strong emotions; especially as you inevitably end up having to wade into politics (e.g. by the mere mention of Britain’s badger population); culture (you can’t mention illegal wildlife trade without a reference to Chinese traditional medicine) and lifestyle practices (from reducing plastic waste to ethical food choices). These can be very sensitive topics and evoke strong reactions. It’s important to consider all of your responses to negative comments and feedback (if you decide to give any response at all) and to not take personal attacks to heart. Having a strong support network will help here!
6… Remember the blogging basics
Nature blogging may be a niche field and while it is true that our work will never garner the same attention as those in other fields, there is no reason for us to remain invisible. Remember the blogging basics: master the use of keywords and learn SEO best-practice. Learn to use social media like a pro, adapting your content for each platform, use effective hashtags, find relevant Facebook groups and search constantly for new and emerging sources of traffic. Blogging involves an awful lot of time and effort and there little point writing if no one sees it. Don’t be afraid of self-promotion.
7…Network and collaborate
All things wildlife conservation seem to work better when you collaborate with others — blogging is no exception! There are so many brilliant and active wildlife bloggers out there, that are truly making a difference. Together we can only be a stronger voice for conservation!
Whether you’re entering into awards, going to blogging meet-ups, or finding the right people in your field to interview for posts — collaborating with or linking to other bloggers increases your audience numbers, but is also invaluable for gathering inspiration and taking away the loneliness of sitting behind a keyboard! It’s also a good chance to find out how audiences see your blog and to see what other things are happening in the world of conservation.
8…Be persistent
Blogging is a long game and it is not uncommon for emerging bloggers to feel disheartened by low traffic. When I started out, barely anyone read my blog and fewer still chose to engage with it. Slowly, however, things started to take off. Keep sharing engaging content and give people time to discover your blog – you never know when someone might pick up an article, or when a certain piece may go viral. Keep chipping away, post by post, word by word, eventually, things will start to happen.
9… Don’t dwell on views
Doubtless, all bloggers keep a close eye on their stats: we all like to know that our work is being read, and all love that warm, fuzzy feeling that comes when something we write grows in popularity. That said, none of us is motivated solely by popularity, and ultimately, we all write because we care. We publish content because we have something to say and because we want to achieve something, whether that be education or public awareness. If you have something meaningful to say, say it. Ignore the stats and get writing. To hell with ego…
10…Have your cause at the heart of everything you do
When you’re positioning yourself as a voice for conservation or wildlife welfare, it’s very important that you always come across as sincere. It can be tempting to work with big brands or be enticed by charities and organisations with lots of clout — but do they really reflect your message? I would suggest always looking into the finer details and backgrounds of any companies that you partner with or promote. For example, on my personal blog, I always stand against trophy hunting and have written about this topic on numerous occasions. For this reason, I’ve had to steer clear of certain well-known charities who quietly advocate trophy hunting away from public view. It can be a minefield out there, but research certainly helps!
If you liked this post, please consider casting a vote for me in the UK Blog Awards 2019 by following this link. I’d really appreciate the support of fellow nature bloggers.
Last week I bought a book. A slim book, with a green and white cover. It was called ‘The Tree’ and was written by John Fowles. I didn’t know anything about it, except that I liked the title and the soft colours on the cover, thereby ignoring the oft-quoted advice on how not to judge a book, or anything else, for that matter. I shamefully haven’t read it yet, but it’s there waiting for me. And I know now it’s about more than a tree.
I mention this because trees seem to be taking an ever more present role in my life. The Japanese maple outside my window provides a riot of colour each autumn and is gradually losing its canopy of bright red leaves, leaves that have carpeted the ground for several weeks. I took a stroll up the lane near my home yesterday, looking up at the yellow leaves, made all the more dazzling by the phenomenal downpour that had just ended. Around me were London planes, a horse chestnut, and the russet red leaves of cherry. Frustration hit me as I tried to identify the tree with bright yellow leaves. (I later identified it as a small-leaved lime, a familiar enough tree but one I hadn’t recognised until now.) Distraction came in the form of a crashing flutter of feathers as a pigeon fell out of a bush. A few minutes later I watched as the pigeon did the tightrope on a thin twig in the midst of the branches; it was intent on harvesting the bright orange berries of the pyracantha. I passed the rusty red of copper beech and walked over another neon-like carpet of lime sheddings. I reached the end of the lane and decided to walk through the trees on the other side of the road. Walking on the pavement and following a path through woodland are two very different experiences. Wet leaves were underfoot and I stopped to look at the different forms, the leaves glistening in the sunshine, their moisture causing them to shine despite the shade of the branches. Starlings sat high in the treetops across the road, filling the air with sound. I turned into my road with the rhythmic clutter of the birds in my ears and my heart filled with the cheerful brightness of the blue sky and the rather cool bite of the autumnal air.
On Saturday I was invited to a meeting to outline plans for the planting of an orchard near my home. The prospect of filling a bare patch of land with trees, condemned for other uses because of toxins from the railway, was wonderful and I listened with full support. Whilst they contaminate roots, the particular toxins concerned here are apparently not passed on to the fruit of the trees, which makes an orchard an ideal outcome for this small urban patch.
At the end of November, all things arboreal will be championed in National Tree Week. There are several tree plantings organised in my local area; look up The Tree Council to see what’s taking part near you, if you’re not already involved. We need trees. Let’s celebrate them.
So you want to start a blog. A nature blog, no less.
Hats off to you for taking some steps closer to creating one. There is always room on the web for another voice for the natural world.
This article is all about how to blog about nature. What format and style to choose, the structure and word-count that work best, and what to remember in the face of feeling nervous about writing. There’ll also be some help on what to blog about, to spark some ideas, or organise the ones you already have.
Firstly, I want you to shelve those notions of blogging as a passive income or becoming an international celebrity blogger. Not only is this a mostly delusional goal for the majority of bloggers (think dime a dozen travel blogs, for one), in the fields of nature and the environment you have to be really exceptional to grow an enviable audience. Even then, it will be nothing like the success achieved by celeb-bloggers such as Perez Hilton or Darren Prowse of Problogger. Articles about the natural world just aren’t as sexy as those about London Fashion Week or bitcoin investment. Sad but true.
Hopefully, you’ve come here because you want to write a blog for your own noble reasons instead: self-development, sharing opinions, teaching others, spreading awareness. And we could all do with more of that on the world wide web (with some real-world action to follow, of course).
How to write your blog
Whatever your reasons for deciding to write a blog, the most important thing to remember is (cue corny lines) write from the heart. Be yourself. Follow and share your passions. Clichés aside, your blog will be richer, more honest and more relatable if you do this. Being authentic is what will make you more appealing. Why write something that’s a carbon-copy of what others are doing, anyway? There’s no sign of the neoliberal celebration of individualism coming to an end any time soon. Embrace your uniqueness. Be weird and proud of it.
Diary style
A good angle for a nature blog is to write it like a journal.
Remember the old days, when naturalists only had a pencil and paper-based fieldbook to take out into the wilds? Try doing this yourself. Connecting our minds through our hands by using a real pen with real paper helps us to process and articulate information better (scientific fact[1]). Head out on a hike and observe, record and draw. Let nature be your inspiration.
After your wanderings in the wilds, grab your keyboard and transfer your handmade notes to digital format. Type up your observations. Upload the photos. Scan your sketches. And don’t forget to add the location, date, time and weather. Details make a difference. Once the raw data is on your computer, it’s ideal material to add to compilations of stories, thoughts and feelings.
People love reading personal diary-like accounts, especially when they include interesting facts or images from a trip out into the field. It’s worth noting that if it weren’t for the old journals of past-naturalists, much of our knowledge about species (particularly extinct ones) would never have been gathered. You can be a part of the global accumulation of data about our natural world.
Your blog will also serve as a record for you to refer to time and again, whether for research or reminiscence. And you’re sure to have a following of folks who love to have a nosey in other people’s diaries.
Putting it together
What puts off a lot of wannabe bloggers is how to word and structure their posts. Assembling a readable, engaging and enjoyable blog post isn’t as difficult as you’d imagine, however. There are tried-and-tested formulae, as well as structures and styles you can employ to be sure your site visitors stick around and enjoy the show.
Style
Consider the voice you want for your blog. By voice, I mean the way your blog reads in the eyes and minds of your audience. This is the difference between “punchin’ keys like a pro to serve up some flamin’ hot content” and “eloquently crafting prose that produces magnificently alluring subject matter”. Informal vs. formal. Slang-filled casual text or loftier, more lucid wordsmithing.
Who you appeal to can depend on the way you write.
Most folks don’t want to learn stuff while poring over jargon-heavy text that reads like an audit for a law firm. However, if you’re writing among circles of scientists and other academics, your blog posts should include much meatier, more complex vocabulary. Again, the adage “Be yourself” applies here. Use the language you’re most comfortable with, to avoid sounding pretentious (or out of your depth) but don’t be afraid to research and employ new words too – blogging is a voyage of discovery in many ways.
Fortunately for bloggers everywhere, the sweetest read tends to be an informal, conversational tone, like you’re listening to a friend describe their day in a chatty email or diary entry. If you can write in a friendly yet informative way, you’ll be on to a blogging hit. Just don’t create an extreme version of an informal article; a dumbed-down post that sounds more patronising than personable (clickbait articles that have as much substance as a jellyfish fart are prime examples).
Structure
Whenever you create a blog post, the layout and structure of the piece is just as crucial as the content. Conscientiously organising writing on a page is something a lot of bloggers overlook, to the dismay of their readers.
Imagine chancing upon a marvellous title on a topic you’re passionate about, only to find it is written as a single, gapless, wall of words. A huge block of intimidating text. To the reader’s eye, it’s the visual equivalent of a brick in the face. All but the most determined (or possibly dullest) readers will skip it for a lighter read.
By paragraphing your article, you divide the information into bite-sized chunks. Now, instead of trying to force-feed someone a bullion bar of 97% dark chocolate, you’re presenting them with a tray of appealing, cocoa-filled dainties they can pick at one by one.
Adding titles, like the ones in this post, will also make for easier reading. Images inserted between sub-topics also have the same effect, breaking up huge areas of text and leading the reader onwards within the article.
Single, isolated sentences are another device that writers use to maintain engagement.
Like the one above.
Or the one you just read.
They act like a snap of the fingers to grab attention and are especially effective for spurring someone into action or helping them retain some information.
There’s a lot of contention about word count in online content. Some say 200-400 words is ideal because most people only have the opportunity to read something in the time it takes to boil a kettle, or else have as much concentration capability as a cat with ADHD. Others insist that search engines like Google favour articles which are longer than 1000 words because these ample reads contain more value for readers.
In my humble opinion, a blog post written for the joy of writing – not just for increasing eyeballs to your website – can be as long or as short as you bloody well like.
If you want to appeal to an audience of trigger-happy perpetual-surfers whose attention spans are as long as the autoplay timer between YouTube videos, you should keep posts under 400 words and cram in plenty of images to keep ‘em happy.
But if you want a following who desire a hearty meal of a read that’s brimming with information and insights, you can pour out a 2000-word essay without fear of inducing blog-jumping boredom. Incidentally, a blog post of 1700 words constitutes a 7-minute read, which is the optimum length of reading time according to the popular publishing platform Medium. So perhaps reports about creating sizeable articles are true.
If you’ve made an effort, your audience will too.
Professionalism
Writing a blog can be daunting, especially when we have plenty to share and say, but believe we lack the language skills to do it.
If your spelling and punctuation leave a lot to be desired, or your grasp of grammar is tenuous at best, there’s a risk that your readers won’t have faith in what you say. Your facts could be spot on, your stories compelling and inspirational, but if your reader continually stumbles over misplaced commas and blunders into dangling participles (say whaaat?), they’ll be so jarred by the experience they’ll have missed what your post is really about.
That said, in the blogosphere (yes, it’s a real word) most people understand that no one is perfect, and people can be very forgiving if they read material that has clearly come from the heart. What’s more, writing is a skill like any other and improves the more you do it. Perseverance and practice will make perfect.
And with online assistance in the form of spellchecking software, websites and forums on grammar rules, and professional writing coaches for hire, you can develop your penmanship in tandem with your blogging journey.
Before publishing posts, be sure to scan your text for errors and readability. If you’re still in doubt, have it proof-read by another set of eyes. Sometimes, leaving a freshly-written piece for a while, then returning to read it again, can often highlight mistakes you would have otherwise missed.
As a writer, editor and English teacher by trade, I’m biased in opining that a human eye is far more reliable for checking work than a machine. Perhaps the software is advancing faster than I can type this article, but almost all grammar-checking programmes currently on the market still can’t identify word-choice errors, suitability and tone of voice, structure, flow or formatting. Nor can they give constructive feedback about someone’s writing ability.
Rise of the robots…?
Not just yet.
What to write in a nature blog
Many bloggers falter at the thought of what to write about. Again, the rule of thumb here is to draw from what fires your imagination the most; what do you feel most passionate about? Choosing a niche, or a blending of a few niches also brings an interested audience to your blog.
You could focus on places you love to visit, perhaps your local area or a regular twitching haunt. Describe the trips you’ve made and your excursions to areas of natural beauty or sites of special scientific interest. It could be a blog solely dedicated to national parks, river walks or wildlife in the urban jungle. The choice is yours.
Another option is to showcase animals in your blogs, from broad coverage of entire families of animals to a focus on single species. Consider what to include about each creature: scientific information; hilarious, strange or astounding facts; stories inspired by their habits and habitats; tales of your own encounters with the species.
When I was writing for the Dorset Wildlife Trust, I presented several stories that happened to feature facts about the unbelievable genitalia of some marine species. Did you know that a barnacle has the longest penis of any animal in relation to its size?! Fascinating and wonderfully risqué at the same time. What can I say? Sex sells.
Why not write a blog filled with practical advice for naturalists and nature enthusiasts? We all have knowledge and expertise to share – from what equipment to take out into the field, to where to spot corvids in the UK – your blog could be a mine of information for others.
And if you feel you don’t have any tips or advice to share, opt for your opinion instead. Your blog can be a sounding board for your views on conservation, land use, species extinction or pollution… the topics are limitless. Throw in a forum and you could generate a whole new wave of ideas in your very own online community.
Take a journalistic stance and publish posts that report on environmental, ecological and social issues. In a world plagued by greedy corporations, fake news and unscrupulous authorities, independent journalism is a worthy and much-needed field to enter these days.
The marvellous thing about blogging is the sheer variety and scope you have as a self-publishing author. All manner of topics can be covered in the same blog. Your nature writing could include wild foods and foraging tips, places to do rock-climbing, how to photograph invertebrates with a macro lens, plus a report on a silversmithing project you’re undertaking.
Combos and cross-fertilisation of concepts make the most captivating blogs.
So, what are you waiting for?
Grab your pen and fieldbook, do up your boots and start some online literary trail-making of your own. Our natural world needs our voices more than ever before.
If you liked this post, please consider casting a vote for me in the UK Blog Awards 2019 by following this link. All you need to do is select the ‘love heart’ beside Common By Nature.
