Preadult Mayfly

Today I saw a strange insect resting on the kitchen window. It was colored in different shades of brown. Its wings were held straight out at the back and together, and it had amazingly long front legs. There browny blotches on its wings. I looked it up and discovered it was from the family Ephemeroptera, that is, it was a mayfly. On reading further I discovered it was a male and, from its appearance, had recently emerged from a nymphal case, and had not yet reached the final stage of its metamorphosis known as the sub-imago – it is a winged preadult life stage unique to the mayfly among all insect species. It usually rests among vegetation waiting for the final moulting stage to occur revealing the fully clothed mayfly or spinner as they are also known. Sadly, their life is very short: they will mate and if female lay eggs and in a just a few hours they will probably be dead.

Scorpion Fly

Today while working in the garden near the paddock I saw a scorpion fly – he was entirely fascinating. I knew instantly what he was because of his upturned scorpion-like tail, also his head looked different from a normal fly. I watched him for a while, then he went about his business, and I went about mine.

It is sad to relate there are not as many butterflies about again this year, actually even less than last year, and if one prettily appears it is often seized upon and eaten, often as not by a robin.

May Flowers and Wildlife

It seems such a long time since I last wrote for my nature diary. It is the last day of May and the garden is looking absolutely wonderful – probably the best we have ever seen. It is lush and verdant, and so full of flowers. I thought spring was best, but this far outweighs it. There are flowers, of all types, in profusion everywhere I look. A few days ago I tried to count the various clematis which are rambling and scrambling all over. As far as I can tell there are forty-two, but there may be more unopened and therefore missed.

Mike has cut the lawn and it sets the borders off beautifully. The wildlife, as always, is abundant: a pair of collared doves, blackbirds, a chaffinch, robins and various tits. There is a magpie that has spent the last three days pecking against an ant colony to feed on the fat grubs inside. We have an injured pigeon, (feral not domesticated). His wing is damaged. At first he could not fly at all and spent his days on the lawn and nights in the borders. I was fearful as night fell each evening that he would make a tasty meal for our fox, who is also badly damaged and now on three legs. Some days have passed though and not only is the pigeon still with us, he is now able to fly short distances. I am still hopeful he will grow strong again, but his wing is so badly distorted and dropped that I fear it will never fully heal. I know that he is physically much better, but I also now know he is definitely make because this evening I have witnessed him bowing to and chasing after a female, and daring to make attempts to mate, yet he has not yet been successful.

We still have three squirrels: last year’s youngster and a pair. Sadly one of our pair died last year, but was very soon replaced and quickly grew as tame as the others. At the moment the female is heavily pregnant. When she moves across the lawn feeding her swollen belly scrapes the grass and when she is sitting up her nipples are thrust forward and out of her fur like mini torpedoes.

The pheasants have all but deserted us although I know they will be back in the autumn. We do, however, have one regular who still comes to feed each night and morning.

Ducks are, as always, ever faithful and a great pleasure even though they have fouled up the big pond, may be beyond redemption, but the constant pair plus the pair with the white female, and the pair with the dark female that frequently visit give us so much pleasure that we would always welcome them.

Creating a Nature Reserve

If you can watch from the window and see:

a beautiful white duck,
two eye-catching jays,
a dressed for dinner magpie,
four starlings with their iridescent sheen,
a pink puffed pigeon,
a pair of blackbirds,
a pretty chaffinch, looking like a miniature jay,
three robins,
and a fast squirrel,

then I think I can safely feel : yes, I have created a kind of nature reserve – especially when the fox, in broad daylight, strolls round the apple tree and looks for his dinner, while two mallards are having their after lunch nap.

The Squirrel and the Apple

It was a typically English autumn morning, the air heavy with water droplets causing a solid wall of thick mist, which felt like a fine rain on your face and soaked your hair and the top layer of your outer garments.

As the morning progressed the mist faded and gradually a weak sun shone highlighting the oranges and yellows of autumn and lifting the dull browns to livelier shades.

I watched a lone squirrel tracking his way round and about leaving pathways on the lawn showing as deeper green where they were swept clear of moisture. Eventually, he came to the old apple tree and sorted through the windfall of apples. He chose a solid globe of gold larger than he was from the tips of his ears to his haunches. After many futile attempts, he managed to carry it up the apple tree, where he sat in a fork between a larger branch and the trunk and proceeded to peel it. He spent a long time using his little teeth to pare the apple, spitting the skin on the lawn below. Then without warning, halfway through his task, he suddenly threw the apple from him and spent several seconds cleaning his mouth and each side of his little face on the mossy tree trunk.

Soon, he followed the apple, but on reaching it, ignored it and went back and forth between the other fallen apples, sniffing, touching, turning and now and again picking one up. Moving across the lawn he found a corncob and came to rest beside it pulling at the individual kernels. He peeled away the outer skin and ate the juicy innards before discarding what was left.

He was soon followed by a cheeky young gentleman in evening dress – a magpie – who eagerly swooped on the corn debris and had a fine meal indeed.

The Dark Fox

Different again tonight. After waiting a very long time a lone fox appeared, but it was not one of our regular fox visitors. It was a very dark colour all over. Its fur was dark from its four legs right up to its ears. It was also very nervous.

It would come forward slowly and hesitantly, then snatch a piece of food and run off with it. Many times, on approach, it didn’t even reach the food because something would startle it and it would hurry off.

Perhaps the nervousness was due to its injury – for this fox had only half a tail. I wondered what had happened to it. If it was a motor vehicle then we must be thankful the fox is still alive. It did not appear to be in any pain, but was so very nervous that I’m glad it found the food tonight.

Fox Pecking Order

Tonight things were very different from last night: instead of three hedgehogs and one fox there were three foxes and one hedgehog. One of the three foxes was a very dominant older fox and the other two were long-legged youngsters. The smaller of the two appeared very hungry and skulked on the sidelines under the low branches of the old apple tree. The other youngster fawned and whined and scouted the food from a distance, obviously very much wanting it, but not courageous enough to take any. If she approached too near or moved too fast the dominant fox would set about her and amid much yipping and yelping she would be driven from the lawn. Every time this drama was enacted, the other young fox would spring out from under the apple tree dash forward and gobble down as much as he could then quickly retreat to his hiding place and adopt a skulking stance waiting for his next opportunity.

Foxes and Hedgehogs

Last night I watched the foxes feed again, but despite sitting motionless in the dark, eyes glued to binoculars, the action was very slow and only one fox turned up. However, on the hedgehog front, it was most exciting as for the first time in a very long time (a few years) we had three hedgehogs here at once. Each was enormous. Two were dark chocolate brown, and the third, who is an infrequent visitor, is so light he almost appears white.

The fox who joined them was very bold. He fed with them and when he had cleared the lawn, he approached each hedgehog, one at a time, and took the food they were eating right out of their mouths. Such audacity! He did it with body low to the ground, head on one side flat against the grass, and with lips turned back. Slowly and gently he stole the food from their mouths.

Hawk Kills Dove

I walked into the kitchen and chanced to glance out of the west-facing window, not quite idly because I always look to see the ducks in the pond or the day-to-day birds feeding by the seat where I put their food. I hope to see a warbler, garden or willow variety, both sorts are here, gladly count another wren, or idly stand and watch the tits flying in and out of the nesting box, but glancing today, I had a sudden intake of breath because there, standing with strong legs far apart, was a sparrowhawk. It stood amid a sea of feathers surrounding “my” collared dove, which, caught in the hawk’s death grip, was wildly thrashing about, but the amount of loose feathers and the patch of pillar-box red on its lower back was testament to its imminent demise.

I was about to throw open the window and halt this violence when I caught myself. What if I interfere with nature? Play God? My collared dove will probably still die. The sparrowhawk will just eat a different bird. So I stayed my hand, and even when the dying dove turned its head and looked straight at me, I did nothing. I let nature take its unsentimental course. I closed my eyes and willed it to die quickly.
It was not to be. Beautiful was the bird of prey and terrible was the spectacle that followed. For a full ten minutes or more the dove struggled before it died. It took the sparrowhawk another forty minutes before he’s eaten his fill.

I wanted to bury the remains, but again thought it kinder to leave them for the fox would gratefully chew on the bones. The feathers were already being gentled across the garden by the softly blowing breeze, and being collected by smaller birds for their nests. The often savage chain of life continues.