Day 4, #30dayswild

On 1 June I was in Yorkshire, and not able to write a post for this blog, but now I'm back there's a chance to catch up. Yorkshire was lovely, especially Nunnington Hall, a National Trust building with a delightful organic garden which nestles in a beautiful riverside setting. An added treat on the visit was the exhibition of 2014 British Wildlife Photography Awards winners (the link will take you to a gallery of the finalists, which is well worth a look, especially the Animal Portrait winner, which went to a photograph from the Farne Islands, and was my own favourite - having found the website I'm going to be looking at them all again!) Serendipity, or what?

Next day we went to Whitby - not much observable wildlife apart from the herring gulls, but a nice example at the Abbey of the effects of nature on sedimentary stone over the years:

We were in no doubt about the efficacy of weathering, the wind was an icy blast on Monday. On my last day, somewhat beset by the weather again, we drove past Rievaulx Abbey but didn't go in - somewhere warm, with coffee, beckoned. There were plant stalls too - pity I was travelling home by train.

Back home and there weren't too many dramatic developments in the garden, again the result of the cold weather, but the may blossom is now fully out, and will shortly be followed by the elder. One of the first things I did was head out to the greenhouse to see what had been happening there. To my horror I found that the nasty sticky yellow whitefly trap, which I put up because my precious scented pelargoniums were suffering, and which I thought was preferable to spraying, had caught two small bumble bees. I am now racked with guilt, and the trap is in the dustbin! The pels will just have to take their chances in future. I've sent off a donation to the Friends of the Earth Bee Cause to assuage my conscience, and will be assiduously assisting any bees I find from now on to make up for it. I was very impressed, visiting my brother and his family at the weekend, to see his bumble bee hive - sadly, my budget won't quite run to such a gesture, but I have got a house for solitary bees to put up this week. I've also sown some catmint for them which will need planting out soon. I think I might manage to make a woodpile too - well, more exactly, I'll collect up the random bits of ash tree which have come down, and put them somewhere in a better, and undisturbed pile. I don't expect the existing inhabitants will mind a minor change of location!

Tomorrow I think I'll take the camera for a walk...

30 days wild

This June the Wildlife Trusts are running a campaign called 30 Days Wild. I decided to join in so that I could spend the month thinking about how to encourage wildlife in the garden. I'm starting by revitalising this blog (four years on!), which had anyway turned into something mostly garden- and nature-focused. It's got a bit of a new look, and a new name, GeraniumCat in the Garden (inspired, huh?).

It won't only be about wildlife - gardening, food and related books are sure to get a look in, local history too, but for June I will try to post at least a picture most days for 30 Days Wild. I may be in Devon for part of the month, too, but that means dogwalking so I'll be out and about.

It seemed a good omen that last night while I was shutting up the chickens and thinking about what I'm going to talk about for 30 days, a tawny owl flew past and there were several brown long-eared bats flitting about. I want to increase the number of plants that are attractive to insects in the garden to encourage both bats and bees. So far, my greatest success is probably in attracting slugs, so I am embracing horticultural fleece with some enthusiasm.

Most importantly, I want to spend some time getting to grips with my new wildflower key. This will be a real challenge, and might be easier if I'm in Devon, because there are so many more wildflowers there than there are in North Northumberland!

NB: GeraniumCat's Bookshelf has also been on hiatus for some time, but I hope to be back there soon.

Bugged by inconsistency

It's official, I'm thoroughly inconsistent. Yesterday I was delighted to find that the hens view earwigs with voracious enthusiasm. Then I came in and spent ten minutes rescuing and trying to photograph a grasshopper. You can see it if you peer closely at the middle of the picture. It's a field grasshopper, chorthippus brunneus, I think.

Time marches on

Two  months since I've been here! Obviously, life is so uneventful that there is simply nothing to say, I'm just swimming serenely along with my feathers only slightly ruffled by a passing breeze - or else, it has been so frantic that I haven't had time to sit and write. And it's the latter, I'm afraid, there's just too much to try to fit into the day - it doesn't matter how hard you try to organise work, noting schedules and deadlines and calculating to be sure that one job will be finishing as another arrives: authors don't work like that, and it all manages to come along at once. Add in a funding emergency, and that's it - the garden is utterly neglected, apart from four courgette plants limping along anaemically. What is wrong with them I can't imagine, except that it was cold and wet when they were planted. True, the strawberries have been tremendous, and the one cucumber was delicious. I don't mind that only two of the hens have been laying properly, because we still have more than enough eggs (who's got time to cook?).

I've been pleased, too, with the dozen pelargoniums I bought as plug plants, which are all growing healthily, and the sweet peas are a pleasure. If I haven't seen many butterflies, I've enjoyed the moths at dusk, and we've had an influx of scarily large beetles (as yet unidentified: I think some kind of ground beetle, and yes, I do know what they are not - not stag beetles or chafers; this is a beetle I haven't met before, and no, I didn't take its photograph...). Earlier in the month we heard quail calling, which was exciting, and the grey partridges creak away in the evenings. For a week or so, a red-legged partridge took to yelling its head off on a fencepost in the paddock. Was it trying to intimidate the hens? Or just out-shriek the competition? One morning I woke about 5 because there was so much noise outside my window - it was five blackbirds on the lawn, all scolding a partridge which was looking singularly unimpressed.

The most pleasure has come from a family of garden warblers who are constantly a-flutter around the house, tiny delicate birds with heavy eye-makeup and personalities out of all proportion to their scale, and the swallows - all day the sky is alive with them and the count of the phone lines is up to at least 50. OH says that when he is mowing they play chicken with the tractor, actually flying underneath it as it makes its steady progress round the paddock. There is certainly plenty for them to eat.

 And the rain it raineth every day (but at least these streptocarpuses are doing quite well...)

Home to roost

I know not everyone takes pleasure in having a rookery next to their home, but I enjoy our neighbours most of the time, and often stop to watch them when I'm shutting up the chickens for the night. This is only a very small part of the flock that musters in waves in the pine trees before they all finally set off to spend the night in the woods below us. I do dissuade them from eating at the bird table, though, as they frighten away the smaller birds.

Oh glory

There are small consolations from time to time. This morning glory is a joy to behold in the mornings - I pass it on my way to the washing line. FD is out of hospital (we won't talk about the state in which they discharged him) and now feeling a little more cheerful - amazing the difference eating can make. The dog is feeling better too, which means disruptive and demanding and generally infuriating, blast him.

The late evening sunshine on the church tower is pleasing too, but I'm not going to take its picture. And coming back from shopping I saw an egret sitting in the topmost branches of a dead tree, surrounded by 4 rooks, 3 magpies and a buzzard. It looked entirely untroubled by such company, and finally the rooks went off to mob the buzzard, which was obviously much more fun.

Of mice and ....

Wood mouse

The other day my mother and I were mystified when she took some boxes out of the kitchen cupboard: three open plastic boxes each contain bird seed, peanuts and dried dogfood, but that morning the peanuts and dogfood were all muddled up. Now, in the general run of things that would mean that while feeding the birds, FD had dropped one or both boxes, swept up and dumped the whole lot back into approximately the right place. That would explain the fluff too, stuffing from the dog mat that sits next to the cupboard door. The puzzle, of course, was that FD is tucked up in bed with an injured back, and definitely shouldn't have been feeding birds. Had him come downstairs while we were asleep? He can walk with a stick, but it seemed unlikely. However, the whole question seemed best left alone, and I sorted the dogfood out from the peanuts and the boxes went back into the cupboard.

This morning, however, the same thing had happened again, and we realised that a mouse - not behind a skirting board - has taken up residence in the cupboard (not very surprising in the circumstances, it must seem like paradise!) and is systematically sorting out preferred foodstuffs for a long hard winter ahead. I'm afraid the mouse's days are numbered, once FD is on his feet again - peanuts are for birds, not mice and squirrels. In the meantime, my mother likes mice and will igonore it provided it focuses its activities on that cupboard and not elsewhere. I'm somewhere in the middle - I generally use live traps at home, and take invading mice on long journeys when I catch them (though I think I have mentioned before that I reckon they usually beat me home) since I prefer them outside.

A couple of weeks ago a met a mouse in the downstairs loo one evening. It was an enchanting creature, no common housemouse, but a wood mouse, with huge expressive ears and liquid brown eyes. It stared at me thoughtfully for a while, before ambling off through a small gap in the door frame. I haven't mentioned it to Father Dear.

Butterflies

This is the time of year when I fret about butterflies! Earlier in the year there seemed, yet again, to be very few in evidence, but in recent weeks there have been good numbers of red admirals, painted ladies, peacocks and large whites around the garden (especially on the buddlejas), with smaller numbers of small tortoiseshell. In the lane there are ringlets and meadow browns as well, although not in such large numbers as in good years. At the weekend I was delighted to see a small copper - pictured below - which isn't very common on our patch, and this made me think idly about keeping some sort of more formal record of the species I see.


The thought led me to the site of the UK Butterfly Monitoring Scheme, from where this picture comes, and where I discovered that there are two people recording species locally (which is done by walking the same route every week for six months of the year). One of them is on Lindisfarne, and the other just a few miles north. They are both recording all the species that I see regularly, as well as a couple more, such as the green-veined white, a butterfly I may well have seen without realising it. I must start looking at the white butterflies more closely.

It would be quite an undertaking for me to walk the same route every week at the moment - I'm away too much - so I am not going to join the scheme, but I walk our track most weeks and it would be interesting to get into the habit of using the recording methodology. Then, if I ever get the chance to retire, I can start doing it properly! Before I got so busy, I used to record for the Nature's Calendar Survey, which tracks wildlife in relation to climate (and ties in to the Spring and Autumnwatch surveys) so my observations will still be useful and I'll be able to compare them with my own records on that site. And maybe I can get younger son interested in taking part, as he takes the dogs along the lane most days (he was with me when we saw the small copper, and wanted to check on its identity as soon as we got home).

Swallows again

The infant swallows are getting bigger, and their parents are busy from dawn till dusk collecting insects (which is much appreciated by me!)

Baby swallows in the rain

These small black dots are baby swallows sitting on the lawn, waiting to be fed - I think it's too windy and rainy for them to fly, so their parents are making regular sorties with laden beaks. The picture was taken through the window because it's raining too hard to set foot outside, and anyway, I didn't want to disturb the poor things.

Rather better is this picture, taken by younger son at the beginning of the week, a much later brood of babies. Three heads, I believe, in a delightfully warm and feathery nest, some of the feathers, I rather think, contributed by the Bluebell Girls.


For weeks now, I have been regularly woken at dawn - about 3.30am at the solstice last month - by liquid bubblings and churrings just outside my open window: the swallow babies waiting for their breakfast. They line up on the guttering and wait for a bristling beakful of flies. At least when I look at my untidy garden I can console myself with the knowledge that it's a excellent hunting ground, helping to provide for good numbers of babies each year - swallows, flycatchers, wagtails, bats, and the ever-present and garrulous sparrows.

Many waters

Around us is the sound of many waters - trickling down drains, squelching underfoot, dripping from eaves. A thaw is underway, and suddenly it appears that spring is, too. The rooks are flying back and forth with an air of purpose, no longer searching out food in unlikely places, but making determined forays into the ash branches at the top of the garden, and then struggling out laden with ungainly twigs. The ivy is full of rustlings and twitterings as birds and other small creatures seek out possible homes and the hens are preening and stalking round their run looking plump and self-important. I hope that all this confidence isn't misplaced - the late afternoon sky is full of geese, and seven whooper swans have just flown over, a sign that for some it is still winter.

Today's view of the Cheviot shows just how much it has thawed in the last twenty-four hours, and I have only now got round to downloading these pictures taken on Thursday by my younger son. The first two tell the sad story of a fox and a pigeon (and show why our chickens live in a run):


And here the girls seem to have found someone's hiding place. Senior Dog is supervising, as befits her age.

But, as usual, she takes over. It needs an experienced nose, you know.


So The Bolter may as well enjoy the snow. This second fall was lovely and soft to run in.


A deer in the next field:


And a winter sunset.

The last of the butterflies

There have been very few butterflies here this summer. After a hopeful start to the spring, with more orange tips than I have seen here, the summer, as everyone knows, was a disaster. Many butterflies emerged late, when the weather finally improved and, though there was a flush of peacocks on the buddleias recently, colder nights mean that overall numbers have been very poor. A few painted ladies and red admirals have fluttered and flirted round the garden, but even numbers of small tortoiseshells have been poor. In past years I have loved to see the small dusky ringlets dancing amongst the grass stalks on our evening walks, but this wet year did little to encourage butterfly numbers or such outings. Even the dogs didn't complain at staying in when it rained.

Worse, though, than the lack of butterflies has been the complete absence of moths. Northumberland is not perhaps the best county for variety anyway, but at least the burnet moths and cinnabars on the dunes are always spectacular. The garden mostly offers a selection of small brown or frilly white moths which can be hard to identify. The greenhouse, though, is usually shared with yellow underwings, which zonk about the tomatoes while you are picking them. Not this year, not a one. This year I have seen a mouse moth. That's it. I'm fond of mouse moths, I was pleased to see it, and helped it back outside when it got stuck. But I would have been pleased to welcome a few of its friends.

Devon has been little better, according to my mother. I recall nights in Devon when it was only possible to sleep with your head under the bedclothes, so many creatures were whizzing round the room. Emeralds, garden tigers, elephant hawk moths, riots of colour. Delicate, feather-winged plume moths could be found on the bindweed in the garden. At least in Devon numbers may recover a little next year if the sun shines. Here, I am afraid that time is running out.

Tempus fugit

I haven't had a lot of time for posting recently, despite my resolve that I would try to do so regularly. In August, my two weeks' holiday was spent on exciting things like creosoting the inside of the garage and catching up in the garden then, just as I was about to get back to work, my son rang to say he was ill again and could I go to Edinburgh to look after him, please? Eight days of fretting later, I was back home and glued to the computer trying frantically to wade through the email that had accrued in my absence. I am only gradually emerging from accounts and conference notices, but at least I managed to spend Sunday morning in the garden again, having virtuously hoovered and scrubbed all of Saturday.

A lengthy battle with a ferocious hedgehog holly at least proved very satisfying, although I think I bear more scars than it does. Planted almost as soon as we arrived here, it's a creature I view with great affection, and it has been photographed in many moods. It's at its best in snow, which is beginning to feel imminent, judging by today's temperature. Despite the cold, opposite the holly is a small triumph - my hibiscus Blue Bird has had more flowers than ever before this year, and I beam at it as I pass. And we finally have a glut of tomatoes! It's gratifying to send The Dormouse off to visit his brother bearing gifts of tomatoes and courgettes, I feel I'm caring for him properly, even in absentia.

The paddock has been ploughed and seeded and is greening up again, much to the relief of Senior Dog and The Bolter, who thought they would be denied access for ever. They are less pleased to discover that all the vole holes have disappeared - for them, it has changed from an adventure playground, with snacks, to an arid desert. No doubt it will revert soon enough, unless we can keep up with the mowing next year. I don't recall who it was who mentioned the Flat Pack Tractor in their blog, but I haven't had a moment's rest since I rashly mentioned it to the Other Half. I should have known that he would want one and now I live in dread! Here, in the meantime, is The Bolter, heading in the right direction for once.

Squirrels and magpies

This year has brought garden firsts: in spring a magpie appeared at the bird table. I have seen them at the end of the track, a mile away, reasonably often, and kept my fingers crossed that they wouldn't find their way here, but the first of them did, only to be chased away by the wood pigeons and collared doves, much to my relief. I regard our garden as a small haven for the sparrows, wrens, dunnocks and robins that nest here in some numbers - no one rare, but all more beleaguered now than in the past. I get a good deal of pleasure from watching them, and several of the robins are very tame. They are often joined by the yearly brood of greater spotted woodpeckers and their parents, who stuff peanut bits down gaping beaks with the avidity of the desperate. The magpie has gone, for the time being, but I have no doubt they will be back.

With my usual inconsistency, I was quite pleased to see a grey squirrel from my office window. They haven't been in evidence here at all, but I saw one a couple of miles away recently, and wondered whether they would now make the trek across the fields. Today's was clearly one of this year's young, with a particularly splendid tail, which required much preening, when not stuffing hips and haws in his (her?) mouth. I fully expect to wake up tomorrow morning to find the peanut feeder has gone.

Now, I know that grey squirrels are every bit as destructive as magpies, but I am afraid they definitely score on the cuteness stakes. On my regular trips to Devon I spend a good deal of time watching squirrels, often while restraining a quivering setter, who regards it as his duty to rid the garden of vermin. On the other hand, should we become overrun, they are definitely better in pies than magpies (despite the name) and I shall have no compunction about sending the sons out with an air rifle. And there are no red squirrels here, since there is no suitable habitat.

So, for the time being, the squirrel is welcome. As certainly are the Partridge Family, who womble round the garden in the early morning, crooning gently to each other. It's a delight to draw my curtains and see them in the morning sunshine.

An auspicious moment

The paddock has been cut and baled. We seem to have been waiting for ever for it to be done, it's been so wet that it had been quite impossible - in early July you could paddle in places!

It's very satisfying to look at now, especially since I'd been losing the dogs in the long grass for weeks (this is serious as The Bolter can disappear the minute your back is turned, and be miles away; I wonder if she has learnt to apparate?) Now both dogs (collectively The Outlaws) are blissful, noses down vole holes from dawn 'til dusk. The Bolter came in smelling very bad yesterday evening, and had to be taken to the beach this morning for a bit of splishing about.

The paddock now has to be rolled to get rid of all the hummocks and ruts left from the orginal ploughing and a subsequent landscaping attempt, also undertaken when everything was a soggy mess. Then the interesting part begins, extending the vegetable garden, planting some trees and some stretches of hedge. The plans aren't ambitious, it has to be low maintenance, and much of it will be semi-wild, but there's still room for heated disagreement (for instance, where we extend the kitchen garden to), and much changing of minds.

Last evening The Dormouse (younger son) took both dogs into the paddock to play, and was surprised to see 3 dogs coming out from behind the bales - the third was a deer. Earlier I had gone out and seen the tiniest black kitten ever hunting with immense concentration. Very sweet, but it swore frightfully and scarpered when it saw me. Arguments, at any rate, for keeping some relative wilderness there, those two acres have been supporting a community of voles, mice, owls, kestrels, sparrowhawks and farm cats for years, and I don't want to lose any of them (except the farm cats, but that's another story).