Fieldfares at Last

The fieldfares are here, at last! Only four, but such a welcome sight it feels like a Christmas blessing. Yesterday I watched a solitary redwing feeding in the same overgrown, but many berried, cotoneaster that the fieldfares are using today.

Outside everywhere is still snow covered, but now it has frozen solid, just to add to the discomfort of our wild neighbors.

Somehow the bottom of the squirrel-proof peanut holder has disappeared so I am again feeding tits from the bird table, which means the pigeons, jays and squirrels eat far more than the little tits ever manage to.

I watched two blackbirds tussling over food on the bird table. One of them was lightly brushed with frost and must have had a very cold perch during the night. I wondered at birds’ metabolism and thought how, if that were us, we would likely have succumbed to hypothermia and maybe died, but here was the black, yellow-billed chap, perky as ever and fighting for his rights amongst the food.

It is very cold outside – the sun rises moon-white each morning into a silvery sky. Yesterday’s sunset was surprisingly red, so perhaps today the sun will shine and gently warm some of the creatures living outside during this freezing spell of weather.

It is 9am. The thin white sunlight brightens the snow on the lawn and in the fields, and deepens the shadows. A pair of squirrels is busy collecting food from the bird table and storing it in the woodpile. A jay sitting in the lower branches of the birch tree watches them. As yet he has made no attempt to sabotage their winter store. My guess is that he is the jay who has already been eating food straight from the bird table and is now marking where his next meal will come from.


A squirrel is sitting fatly – his fur all puffed out – on the bird table. He has eaten his fill, stored much here and there, and is obviously not much interested in the rest of the food other than to protect it from the birds with a view to keeping it for himself.

A skein of Canada geese just flew noisily above the garden. I love the way their calls announce their coming, making it possible to fully enjoy the sight of their overhead flight formation.

A Field near Hertford

On a trip to Reading, near Hertford, we passed a field on the left-hand side, a pretty scene – a small field, surrounded by trees, winter brownish-green grass, and passing through the centre: a stream formed from snow melt and rainfall, wide at the road edge, barely tapering toward the middle and suddenly disappearing – not forming a pond, not narrowing further, just disappearing as if into a black hole. Settled on the edge of this new stream two Canada geese, resting, one head down, the other head held high on long stretched neck, peering curiously around. Beak turned first one way, and then the other.

Dwindling Bird Populations

Over the past forty years, bird populations have plummeted: kestrels and reed bunting by a third; skylarks, goldfinches, yellowhammers and linnets by more than half; yellow wagtails and starlings by nearly three-quarters; and worst of all, turtle doves, tree sparrows, corn buntings and grey partridges have crashed by around 90%.

Crickets

I was heartened to read that while wet weather is not good for crickets, this is offset to some extent by many cricket species having eggs that take two to three years to hatch – effectively sitting out the bad weather years. Apparently, house crickets, which were once only found indoors, are now increasingly found outside in large colonies on landfill sites where they are protected from the cold by the heat from the decaying waste. Worldwide there are 900 species of cricket, but we only have 29 here in England and Wales. Crickets are omnivores feeding on decaying plant material, fungi, seedling plants, and their own dead. Their eggs hatch in spring and one fertile female can produce two thousand offspring.

Squirrel Pair

We again have two squirrels; they are tiny thin timid beasts. I watched them one frosty morning huddled together in the south-facing fork of the pseudo-acacia tree, obviously enjoying the warmth of the sun. It was a frosty morning and the sunshine must have been very welcome.

They have built a dray, high up in the birch tree. So far, most of their day is spent in the malus tree eating the crabapples. The pigeons also feast on these and they are fast depleting, soon there will be none left. No doubt the squirrels will then find our bird table. How long before they become as tame as the others is anyone’s guess.

I threw two plums on the lawn. One of the squirrels found them, and squatting on his haunches, sat until he had eaten one. After washing his hands and face – a delicate procedure and a joy to watch – he picked up the remaining plum in his mouth, carried it to the birch tree, where he climbed high, before traversing almost the length of the branch, and pushing it into a fork, he went off about his business. Often over the next several days, I saw him go and check the plum, without even attempting to eat it. However, one afternoon, I watched as one of the two squirrels, as yet I cannot tell them apart, climbed to the plum, disengaged it from its nook, and carrying it lower down the branch, he sat beside the trunk and ate it.

Friend of the Fox

Yesterday we drove down a very beautiful stretch of road. It is very picturesque and passes through woodland. The trees meet overhead and no matter what time of year, we always enjoy the journey.

Last night, we passed along its length twice: the first time as always taking our time and enjoying its beauty, even in the dark we still find it an attractive road. The second, our return journey last night, was utterly spoiled for us. As we drove gently along, the headlamps picked out a beautiful fox in the road, we slowed even more and delightedly watched it. Unusually the fox didn’t move and so we slowed to almost a standstill. Edging forward, we noticed the reason for the fox’s reticence to leave the road; he was standing by the mangled body of another fox. As we drew level, he stepped off the road and on to the verge and as we slowly passed by he returned to stand by the body of his friend.

Who dares to say animals don’t have feelings? I was incensed recently when I met someone who spoke of foxes in such a derogatory manner and termed them vermin. He keeps chickens for his table, but was upset because a fox had discovered his run and helped himself.

He was not bothered about the chicken either. To him, it was just a meal.

Perhaps the lesson he should learn is to keep his foul more secure.

“Only decent fox is a dead one”, he told me.

Well he might respect them more if he put food out for them at night and watched them. They are quite delightful creatures and we ought to remember like us they get hungry and need to eat – but don’t have a butchers to go to!

Long Tailed Tits and Fungus

The previously mentioned insect box hung in the lower boughs of a malus, is easily seen from the dining room, and has become another area to keep an eye on. It is clear the insect box is a success because it is frequented by great tits, who use it as a feeding station. I am now tempted to hang a bird feeder close by, to see which other birds are drawn to that area by the promise of food.

We are being entertained by flocks of long tailed tits, prettying the garden with their swooping flight as they visit our trees and bushes. Their favourite place in the garden is an old upturned dustbin lid balanced on an old chimney, we keep it filled with water and it has become their daily bathing place.

Fungi this year are wonderful, such a quantity and variety. I have so enjoyed seeking it out to photograph. I enjoy looking at fungi and wish I was more knowledgeable, perhaps this winter, I will try to learn more about it.

Black Sky, White Birds

For days we have had rain. All morning it was wet though just before we left it dried up, but was very windy. Now on the journey to the hospital, to hear the scan results, there is bright sunshine, although the roads are still very wet.

Deciduous trees are almost bare and all rivers are full to overflowing. I can see the sky reflected on the flooded areas of flat fields and road edges.

We drive quietly. We are both sober. The uncertainty of the last three months has been bad enough, but the strain of the last three days has been almost unbearable.

Pylons march across fields reminding me of the Eiffel Tower, they stand sentinel at the roadside between the turning for Westmill and the village of Buckland.

Here and there is evidence of the high winds in the trees, having blown down on the verges and roadsides. In a field on the right-hand side is a dwelling – once a windmill. I wonder what it is like inside. Does it have curved walls? Steep chalk sides bound the road on either side now – very ivy-covered in places.

Cambridge is 13 miles away. 12 miles away. 11. Put Coldplay on the stereo.

The sky is very black and angry, and silhouetted against it is a rising and falling flock of white birds. Perhaps they are not white – it may be a trick of the reflected light against the clouds’ blackness. How can the sky be so black and yet the sun be shining so brightly? It feels like a reflection of my fear and hope.

Black sky, wet roads and cars with their headlamps on.

In Trumpington now and passing the turning for Grantchester – these so familiar names from researching the Howe family history, so many of Mike’s forbears came from this area.

A thick rainbow rises from a belt of green trees ahead.

Turning off now for the hospital at the end of this road. The windscreen is splattered, as if the drops are my tears being held back, but only just, because my fear is great and my sorrow at what might be is even greater.

The Heron

Today, just as Mike walked into the kitchen, I looked out of the lounge window and watched a heron take off. It was flying low across the lawn and upward through the branches of our garden’s trees. I have very mixed feelings regarding the heron, because he empties our pond, but I love to watch him. It takes away my breath when I watch him in flight. He did not fly very far – just across the paddock and into the field, where he spent the next two hours silently stalking the river’s edge.

Later on, I watched a goldcrest, such a tiny restless little bird. He spent ten minutes between a conifer and a bird bath never staying long on either, but impatiently flying between the two.

Monday feels very near now. I cannot believe that for the last few months I have been so anxious for this day to arrive, and now that it is here I am filled with dread. Will I have the strength and fortitude to bear what I must if the news is bad? How foolish and selfish to even wonder such a thing when I have already lived 67 years, and so very many people have not even had this much.

Home Creatures

Tired but happy, a most enjoyable day yesterday.

The squirrels, pheasants and birds have missed their handouts, and seemed extra hungry today.

We were pleased to oblige, we missed the contact with them yesterday.

Journey to Ric’s Home

It is beautiful outside, quite bright, not sunshine-bright, but better than we have had for days. The skies are no longer black, brown or grey, but covered in a dense layer of white with here and there a glimpse of blue, which gives the promise of sunlight later, and which I so look forward to. We have had far too many gloomy, grey, rainy days; it is wonderful to look out of the windows today.

We are visiting Ric, taking our computer, which has had another “Fatal Error”, for our dear grandson to mend, guilt rides high when we have to ask for his help. I know he does not mind, but I would much rather be giving than taking. Taking makes me feel awkward.

As I look through the windscreen at the beautiful autumnal landscape I wonder if this will be my last. Is it cancer? Will I die? If so how soon? A week on Monday I will have some badly needed answers, living with the uncertainty has not been easy.

The roads are water-laden and cars create waves on either side as high as, or even higher, than the cars themselves, as they suddenly enter flooded areas. The sky which earlier had flashes of blue is once again darkly grey and forbidding. So many men nowadays have shaven or near-shaven heads and they don’t wear hats. Are they not cold? How can they bear it?

Rivers have risen and are surging swollenly along often brushing the tops of their banks. Low-lying fields are flooded and we passed a river where the moored boat now rested high on the path – a sudden surge must have lifted it and left it there, preferable to submerging it, I guess.

Sad horses stand, heads down, in sodden, muddy fields.

Last night was very windy and today the trees have noticeably less leaves.

Large armsful of mistletoe hang heavily from bare branches, taunting us, knowing they are safe on their lofty perches, making food for birds, who will in turn set the seed for more plants to grow, some of which will be attainable for man to indulge his tribal fantasies.

Golden trees still light the road edges and are a joy to see.

The pelting rain splashing on the windscreen almost drowns out Coldplay on the stereo.

On the M25, where road-widening is in process, the chalk escarpment of the Chilterns lays bare and startling bright in the rain; the air here is good despite being on a motorway.

The last 24 hours my asthma has been very troublesome and my lungs have over-produced mucus; thank goodness I can empty my lungs with breathing techniques and postural drainage.

The chalk escarpment is overlaid in places by matting heavily bolted down, this is I suppose because the chalk is unstable comma, it is porous and lets rain drain through, but much of our rain may be acid now and this would gradually eat away the chalk.

The motorway is full up and the sky dark and heavy, I am reminded of Christmas by the myriad lights on cars, red rear and white front, yellow flashing on highway vehicles and traffic cones with winking amber lights on the top.

On the M40 now, much standing water on the surface and thick mist rising from the vehicles in front and to the side, the windscreen wipers sway to their quickest own monotonous rhythm, while Coldplay still entertains and cheers us, leaving me dancing in my seat, which always both amuses and embarrasses my dear granddaughter Meggy.

This is a beautiful stretch of the M40, less bare branches, but still bright golden leaved trees interspersed with green ones. The golden ones are, of course, the beautiful beeches, which the Chilterns are famous for.

Debris in road. SLOW. We slowed, massed blue lights, smashed cars, a van, a tiny black sports car crushed downward and facing the wrong way, debris cleared from our side, but horrors on the other side where the accident happened – just let the people be safe, and let not their relatives spend the next period of their lives in despair. A traffic jam, miles long, on the other side. The sports car reminded me of my two boys and their little sports cars and I wept for the occupants.

We are still on the M40 and the trees still thickly growing alongside are so beautiful, there are so tall, so dense and so varied.

As we turned off the M40 my senses were stunned by the obscene concrete tower of a mobile phone mast rising from behind a concrete bridge spanning the M40.

A narrow road to Ibstone wound its way through breathtaking beech woods. England in some parts is still fully natural. Beech woods gave way to fields and far-reaching views often glimpsed between the beech trunks, the leaf litter and the leaves still holding are stunningly picturesque. Evidence of last night’s high winds lay across the road surface in the form of fallen branches. Brown and black cattle and flocks of sheep graze in the green, green, sloping fields.

Male pheasants mark their territory by standing firm and refusing to leave the road, forcing us to stop and wait until they leisurely saunter out of our path, while overhead a trio of red kites wheel, silhouetted against the grey sky.

The most magnificent fairy ring I have ever seen made up of toadstools each one concave and filled with leaves and rainwater.

Another horrid mobile phone mast rising above a belt of beautiful beech trees and a field of sheep. Progress, but at what price?

A covey of female pheasants sheltering amidst pale brown ferns.

We are nearly at Ric’s home, I am thankful for the day and overjoyed with most of the journey, and the pleasure my eyes have afforded me.

So many beautiful views and so many flooded roads.

Meeting of the trees overhanging the road, the striking new growth of pine trees intermingling with beech trees and almost the same colour.

While at Ric’s home I had a rare happening – I escaped and had a good half an hour’s freedom. Unbelievable, this never happens, hard for anyone else to understand, but true, anywhere I am Mike is always with me. Whatever I do, he knows. My only space in life is when he is out shopping, then I feel a luxurious rush of freedom and hurry around doing jobs I have no incentive to do normally!

Ric was going to fetch a takeaway, Mike was on the computer, so I said, if they did not mind I would like to go for a walk alone – and I did.

I slipped out of the door, turned right at the gate, down the lane passed three or four houses, and followed a footpath left into the woods. It was strange being out alone and sad to say even a little frightening, but of course, this is because I never have this freedom; it is entirely unknown to me. The sense of space filled me with awe, the sight and smell of the wet beauty of the beech woods was wonderful.

I had my camera and took photographs of fungi, leaves, trees, pools, ferns and views.

Half an hour passed so quickly, and I found myself hurrying back so as not to hold them up from eating their food. I arrived back in time to find a search party in the guise of my grandson about to come and find me. The Indian takeaway was superb.

We had a lovely afternoon and evening with Ric. We left at 10:30pm and headed home along narrow roads through the Chiltern beech woods towards the M40.

We stopped at one point as the car headlamps picked out a female fallow deer in the road just ahead, we watched as she moved to the verge then stood right by our car watching us watching her. It was magical. A little further on we saw a muntjac, munching the verge and in a further mile or two the car headlights picked out a stoat hurrying across the road.

An excellent day!

The Scan

It is finally the day of my scan. We are driving there now. Mike is driving a little faster than normal because he fears being late due to the pressure of finding a parking space.

The road we are travelling is beautiful. It is the A10. It is a newish road; two lanes each way with a central barrier, and wide lay-bys, but we are in a hurry so we cannot stop. The road is made beautiful because of the wonderful, often far-reaching views of the surrounding countryside, fields green and bounded by autumnal hedges interlaced with still dark green bowed brambles and interjected with stately old trees, many of them oaks with their golden brown covering.

Other trees with upward thrusting bare branches: sycamores brightly yellow with the first tinges of orange; magnificent beeches resplendent in their burnt orange cloaks. Rose hips still hang heavy. Giant cow parsley skeletons stand proudly on verges. Graceful silver birches with their delicate branches prettily peppered with golden leaves. A brown female pheasant stands sentinel on a fence. Nine white doves cluster near the edge of a newly sown field, bearing a mid-green sheen of fresh shoots. High trees of dark red haw berries stand proudly above the hedgerows, food for hungry birds on cold days to come.

Here and there apple trees, bearing fruit, have sprung up planted by the careless tossing of apple cores from car windows or walkers passing by. I have often, on finding these self set trees, tried their fruit. Most of it is unpalatable, although sometimes, with the addition of sugar, it does cook well and is often very flavoursome. An aunt of mine, who during her lifetime won many prizes for her jam-making, used to walk the highways, byways and common land collecting wild fruit to use. Her wild apple jelly was wonderful: a pale pink in colour, and delicious on toast or with bread and butter for tea.

Ivy climbs trees and thrusts forward its autumnal flowers for late flying bees and butterflies to re-energise on. Here and there a garden escapee cotoneaster stands tall with graceful downward branches and cheers us with its red berries brightly standing out against its dark green leaves.


Now in late autumn, winds have bared branches and lessened leaves on so many trees I am surprised by the number of conifers I have seen, but also pleased because they are home and shelter for birds, insects, bats and squirrels in the cold months ahead.

Last time I came for a scan, it was easy and carefree, this time it is different. Last time altered so much. A node – two small words, but such a large, fearful question mark left in my mind.

Passing through Harston, on our way home we chanced on a Thai restaurant, where we ate lunch. The service was great and the food even better. Perhaps a week on Monday, if the news is good, we will again stop here, this time to celebrate our good fortune.

Driving home we went from Cambridgeshire into Essex back to Cambridgeshire and into Hertfordshire. We drove through the highest point in the county of Cambridgeshire. Driving home on the B1368 we were still surrounded by wonderful countryside, but often the road was bounded by bare brown hedges and sad-looking verges. The road edges were muddied and puddle.

Across the fleeting views of fields the mist hung heavy and the horizon was lost from us; the sky being a miserable murky grey. Trees which sunlight would have lit up and glowed had lost their enchantment and looked dull.

We hit the A10 at Puckeridge, and turned left to follow it toward home. It was beautiful journey there, and an interesting one back with its several small, but pretty English villages.

Walk Along the Canal Towpath

November, late in the year, but the warm sun has brought out the bees. They are busily buzzing around the nectar-rich ivy blooms held proudly out from the rich green foliage draping riverside trees and bushes.

My favourite river side tree is the alder. They are so delicate and their reflections steal my heart each time we walk along by the river. At this time of year they are leafless, but their branches are prettily displaying bunches of tiny cones and catkins, still tightly closed waiting out the winter for the promise of spring.

As we neared Parndon Mill we saw a lovely goat in his paddock. Had the sheep gone off to market we wondered as we walked past the lock and headed into the sun. The water sparkled and the geese at the mill shone brightly white in the sunshine. The donkey brayed loudly and made us laugh at his whimsical sound.

We saw very few birds: one mallard, one blackbird, a lone redwing. We used to have huge flocks here at this time of year, but not anymore. We heard the silver song of the robin and the call of a little owl, but no kingfishers, which was disappointing.

As we neared the lock, we saw the boar at his gate. He had heard us coming and with his teeth he caught the metal bar and pushed the gate back and forth. I usually give him my apple core, but I today I didn’t have one for him. So I collected some leafy branches of hawthorn and was lucky enough to find some covered with sloe berries, which I fed to him.


Leaving the Mill and lock behind we continued our walk along the canal towpath. We spotted some tiny saddleback piglets and their mother working their way down the field toward the gate, probably knowing feeding time was approaching. They were delightful to watch.

Walking along we noticed, on the far bank, that each fence post was marked with a hazel bush of bright golden leaves. The hawthorns were very old with twisted, crisscross branches and entwined spikes and covered in berries that glistened in the sun like baubles on a lighted Christmas tree. Some trees still held leaves of green while others were festooned in orange, red and browns, even others were totally bare. We saw a partially pollarded willow, almost bereft of leaves, but strong new 12 foot rising from the trunk covered in blue-green leaves – what a contrast!

Large bramble leaves in beautiful autumn colours crept over the bank. There were streamers of bright red rose hips shining in the sun hung suspended from branches where months before they had delighted us with their badges of dog field roses.

The fungi alongside the towpath grew in clumps and were the classic domed toadstool shape though I was unsure of its genus. We made a note of eight clumps of mistletoe that we would return to harvest in December for our Christmas decorations.

Misty Mornings and Birds

From my kitchen window I can see a cotoneaster its boughs heavily laden with berries, shiningly colorful, and brightly glistening in the rain, good autumn food for birds. Across the lawn a robin and a blue tit vie for the last apple hanging from the tree, and a malus is filled with a flock of pigeons, whereas other years it has been the territory of blackbirds, thrushes, redwing and fieldfare, sadly this year we haven't seen even one redwing or fieldfare.

Hanging from a lower bough is an overwintering insect box, I hung it with a happy smile in the summer, thinking of how it would provide protection for hibernating insects. Interestingly it has proved very successful as a feeding station, especially for the great tits who are delighted with the easy pickings it provides.

Misty mornings now, and drifts of mist hang low over the fields that border the river, the tiny misty droplets highlighting and jewel bedecking the myriad cobwebs, draped over or hanging from bushes and plants. Watch out for an influx of spiders indoors, sheltering from the coming cold winter. Now is a good time to go fungi foraging, there are many and varied types to be found, all shapes and sizes, I once found a navy blue one growing under a yew tree.

Today through the lounge window I watched a heron take off, flying low over the lawn and upward through the branches of our trees. I have very mixed feelings about herons because they empty the pond, but I do love to watch them and I am always awestruck when I see them in flight. Today he didn't fly very far, just across the paddock and into the field where he spent the afternoon silently stalking by the river's edge.

Later on I saw a tiny restless goldcrest who spent several minutes flying repeatedly between a bird bath and a conifer. At just 3.5 inches long the goldcrest is Britain's smallest bird and is a joy to see with its vivid bright yellow streak along the top of its head.

Now is a good time to clear out and clean nesting boxes and before replacing them put in a handful of dried leaves to help out overwintering creatures.

Walk Along Brimming Canal

We have had a very wet several days and the fields at the back of the garden are flooded again. So we knew the river would be high, making the sights and sounds of our usual walk a little different.

Weirs usually dry are now overflowing with rushing, crashing, foamy water. One weir ran through a concrete tunnel connecting it to the river. We stood above the tunnel in awe of the roar of the water underneath the bridge, and the spray that shot high into the air.

During the course of our walk we saw only one fresh mole hill. I imagined the little creature with his warm furry coat poking his head out and quickly drawing back as the wind hit his little snout.

We met a red-faced fisherman sitting huddled on the bank. He told us he had caught but one small roach. On our return, later, he had caught another half a dozen including a 15” bream. He didn’t like killing them, so he’d thrown all of them back in.

The wind was strong and cold; it made one’s eyes water. The sun shone out highlighting the foliage with its golds, oranges, reds and browns – a truly beautiful autumn day. We were well wrapped up and determined to enjoy our walk, but no matter how quickly we moved to stay warm, our ears became cold as did our arms and gloved hands.

We were amused by the sight of swans swimming along with ducks and Canada geese on flooded fields that a day earlier had been lush green meadows.

We came to a weir that was usually dry and were enchanted by a magic carpet of leaves of all shapes, sizes and colors drawn toward the weir. We watched spellbound, then placed bets on which clump of leaves would first escape the current of the weir and float off downstream.

A Noise in the Night

The beech woods I wrote about last month are the setting for this piece, also the tale I am about to recount is absolutely true.

In the middle of a dark and moonless night my grandson was roused from sleep by the frightened and frightening cries of a creature, he was tired after a long day and had work to go to in a few hours so he tucked down and tried to ignore the sound. After several unsuccessful attempts he decided to investigate, leaving his bed he pulled on jeans and tee shirt picked up his mobile and set off. The calls were already becoming more urgent, and the woods were very dark and not the friendly place he usually frequented. He followed the direction of the sound and could hear the fear in it, he found this very unsettling and at one point was fearful as to what he was going to find. The unfamiliarity of going through the woods at night coupled with the distressed and distressing calls had quite unnerved him especially as he had no self protection should he need it, briefly he faltered but the calls were so near now he went on. He even wondered if it was a young child and knew then he couldn't stop. It was not only dark he was cold and the tree roots tripped him often, eventually he climbed up from a steep drop and as he reached the brow he heard a different sound, switching on his mobile phone he had enough light to see facing him and close enough to touch at his eye level a fully grown badger instinctively he stood tall, held his arms out and shouted. The badger stepped back a few paces and then stood its ground off to one side he could still hear the desperate cries of a creature in trouble, carefully he sidestepped away from the adult badger and made his way to the sound, it was coming from a lidless culvert. Using the light on his phone he looked down and found a young badger cub up to its neck in mud and at a good arms stretch, he was very slimy and smelly and almost impossible to grasp. After several attempts Ric managed to hold him by the neck and draw him upward, where he could use the other hand to support the youngster. When finally out, the cub rubbed himself on the ground, then made his way to his mother who had been waiting close by, obviously pleased to see her cub she nuzzled him before setting off through the woods with him.

Ric said he felt very privileged to have rescued the little chap he also said he was astonished at how heavy the cub was, how solid he felt and how coarse was his fur, he was also surprised at how the adult had waited so patiently while her cub was rescued displaying no fear or aggression. Did the adult realise she needed help which Ric could give her? Is this why she waited and watched so patiently?
Ric went back the next day and covered the hole to avoid any future mishaps.

A Beechwood Walk

Recently we visited our grandson who lives in the Chilterns, after lunch we crossed the lane he lives in, and entered the woodlands opposite. Following a narrow path through the perimeter bushes we found the dense undergrowth gave way to the typical spaces of an ancient beechwood. The floor was thickly carpeted with a top layer of freshly fallen orangey brown autumn leaves, joyfully crisp to walk on. Smooth grey green beech trunks stretched far above us, holding lightly leaved branches aloft and outward, extending themselves into a fine tracery of twigs, silhouetted against the blue sky. Here and there sunlight filtered prettily down through the branches and where it lit and warmed the woodland floor would be a patch of nettles, freshly green and tall, leaning and reaching toward the sunlight. Toadstools often nibbled at the edges were many and varied, as was lichen. Branches and even trees lay where they had fallen; sprouting both funghi and lichen, in other places dead trees remained standing, with bracket funghi growing up the entire length of the trunk. I was entranced by both the colours and patterns of the funghi and lichen. Traditionally ancient beech woodlands are often home to truffles and I wondered if any were growing there.

Under the crisp topping of leaves was a thick humous rich layer inhabited by many different insects, I would like to have gone beetle hunting but time didn't allow. This wood must be home to so many small mammals as well as larger ones we were shown the biggest badger sett I have ever seen and my grandson and his fiancee feel priviledged to have watched badgers, who just seem oblivious to their presence. These woodlands are also home to a large herd of Muntjac deer, which also wander through my grandson's garden.

Beech mast littered the floor, and occasionally we came across hazel trees, with a scattering of nuts and empty shells underneath. Here we saw evidence of the resident rodent population --- it was interesting to see the different ways the shells had been opened, some split in half, perhaps by squirrels, others with large holes in the bottom half of one side and yet more with tiny round neat holes --- mice and voles maybe.

Our woodland wander was wonderful and enhanced by the accompaniment of my grandson’s four cats, who daily go for a walk with him. They were delightful never venturing far from us, either walking in single file behind or three of them chasing each other round and about, back and forth or up and down trees. The fourth cat is an old gentleman of 15 years, pure white and still quite spritely, although he no longer rough and tumbles or climbs trees.

Old woodlands such as these are magical places and we are so fortunate to be able to enjoy them. The woodland I described here reminded me of High Beech woodlands, not too far from where we all live.

Disappearing Squirrels

We have had quite a few noteworthy events during the past two months, the first was when we were checking the drains and on lifting an inspection cover found a tablespoon-sized toad quite happily sitting there. He was relocated to the pond area. Another which stands out but this time for its comparative value was while clearing the undergrowth from an apple tree we found an enormous toad, darkly brown and lumpy we stopped clearing and went to sit by the pond there we were delighted to see an eft he was so tiny but perfect he had such delicate little hands and arms and was such a contrast to the old toad, but we were quite charmed by them both.

Thrushes have managed to rear a brood successfully there are so many predators in the garden to steal their eggs or young -- jays, magpies, crows and squirrels spring to mind, this morning I looked out of the end kitchen window and saw blue and great tits, 3 wrens, a chaffinch, pigeons, blackbirds, thrushes, a white throat and a flock of long-tailed tits. Pheasants continue to visit, but the creatures who have consistently afforded us the most pleasure and amusement are the grey squirrels, sadly I now have to report we have none. A few weeks ago we were enjoying both the adults and their young, we fed them as usual in the morning and although it seemed a little odd when we didn't see them the rest of the day we weren't unduly worried, but the next day none appeared which set alarm bells ringing, the day wore on and still none came and the same every following day. I am mystified. I have no answer. I can only wonder. One missing squirrel I could think, maybe a passing car, fox, cat or even a bird of prey, but all of them -- could they have succumbed to an infectious disease.

Butterflies have been in colourful abundance this spring and summer and the garden has hummed to the tune of hundreds of bees of many types -- and now a few wasps are appearing. We arrived home one evening to find a huge swarm of angry hornets buzzing around the outside light, we used the back entrance and turned off the light, the swarm dispersed and thankfully although we've seen the odd one or two, we haven't seen a worrying number. Hornets are not naturally aggressive, I read, however their size is enough to make me shudder! The fruit trees are heavy with their welcome crop, which as yet although unripe is being eaten in situ by the tits and blackbirds. Hips and haws hang heavy this year as do the elderberries, reminding us that golden autumn is on its way with its shorter days and misty mornings.

Mid-Summer in the Garden

One fine morning with the kitchen window wide open, I heard the pheasant beating a tattoo with his beak on the paving stones beneath as he pecked up the seeds, on looking down I saw a jay delicately picking ants from the surface of half an orange, placed there for the butterflies. This month in addition to the usual birds we have been lucky to also watch; herons, spotted flycatchers, reed buntings, reed warblers and a kingfisher. The Muntjac deer still use the garden and keep the lower branches of an apple tree well pruned.

Within the garden are large clumps of Geranium Phaeum or Morning Geraniums as they are commonly known, the flowers are small, dark and fairly insignificant, appearing one after the other up the stem. Now the flowers are all but finished and many people cut the untidy, straggly stems back to the neat mound of leaves beneath. However if this action is resisted the reward will be great as bullfinches will visit to enjoy the seeds. These are such attractive birds with their well defined and striking markings and a great addition to any garden.


The delicately pretty wild roses are festooning the hedgerows, both field roses ---white, and dog roses--- pink. I notice a great variation in the depth of colour of the dog roses, from palest pink to a really deep shade. I wonder is this natural or because they have interbred with the field roses? Orchids spotted so far: Bee, Common Spotted and Twayblade.

Lately one of the squirrels has grown increasingly fat, she sits wide-legged and walks with a legs apart gait, she has also grown increasingly irritable with her mate, seeing him off with loud growls. When I first heard this sound I couldn't understand what it was or where it came from, but on watching from the open kitchen window I saw it was a squirrel. Each time her mate approached either her or the food she became aggressive--- growling and chasing him away, this is the first time I have heard a squirrel growling.

For two or three days I didn't notice her at all, then today she was back, patiently waiting on the windowsill. She snatched the food from my hand and sat back where she was to eat it. I put more beside her and shut the window. A jay flew down but lacked the courage to collect food while she sat by it. Her belly is no longer swollen --- indeed she looks so much thinner I hardly recognised her. I wonder how long it will be before we see her little ones.

Return of the Ducks

The ducks are well and truly back, they arrived about a month ago, they are mating manically causing tidal waves in the pond, the once sparkling crystal clear water is now a dirty greenish brown colour. The fish which so delighted us a few weeks ago are now nowhere to be seen, having gone into hiding and the brief sighting of the newt with the beautiful orange underside is clearly not going to be repeated any time soon. The tadpoles that managed in their spawn state to survive the goldfish, will no doubt have been syphoned up by the ducks.

Mrs. Duck is now becoming increasingly hungry. Today at tea-time she ate a large handful of peanuts, two of mixed bird seed, a slice and a half of bread soaked in water and on her hurried way to the pond she rushed toward a squirrel at such a rate she caused him to start and drop the half a digestive biscuit he was eating, and then as if to add insult to injury she stopped, snatched it up in her beak and carried it with her to the pond!

It is with pleasure I note that a wren has made her home inside an ancient blue tit box, tied together with string and wedged into a fork in the pear tree. Nearby on a grass verge is growing a bee orchid, my delight in finding it was unbounded, fortunately I had my camera with me and could photograph it.

The garden has many delightful Orange Tip butterflies (Anthocharis Cardomines). Adults have wings that have white uppersides and green mottled undersides. It is the males that have the beautiful striking orange tip on their wing, while the females have a blackish grey tip. The caterpillars are found on cuckoo flowers, ladies smock, jack by the hedge and honesty, although for some reason survival on the honesty is limited.

I know some people catch and kill white butterflies thinking they are all 'cabbage whites' – this is not so, and these beautiful butterflies need to be enjoyed, as the females although white will do no harm to your cabbages, etc., but being female are vital for the breeding of the next generation. To witness male orange tips and their all white partners dancing daintily through the air is a sight to lift the spirits.

A Trail of Breadcrumbs

Spring is truly here at last. The garden is magnificent, although the majority of daffodils have faded, the bluebells and honesty have taken over from them. The real joy of the garden is the beautifully blossoming trees: magnolias, camelias, and rhododendrons are wonderful, but when you add the fruit trees: apple, plum, cherry, crab apple and pear, then the sight is breathtaking. Incidentally, the tiny red fruit from the crab apple which weigh the branches down so low they touch the ground (one year we lost a third of the tree due to the excessive fruit breaking branches) are shared with the birds and squirrels. Our share we turn into crab apple liqueur, a warming drink on a cold day or a cheering one at the end of a busy one. More and more butterflies fill the air. Yesterday I saw many orange tips and a small blue. I'm pleased to report the garden is also alive with the sight and sound of bees. The fish are very active and the croaking of frogs makes a pleasant background sound. Short tailed field voles are also more active now that the weather has warmed up.

Here is a puzzle, like many people we leave windows open during the day when we are in, sometimes a squirrel or robin will venture into the kitchen and help themselves to food. The conservatory is also a favourite place for interlopers, however yesterday in the early evening I went to close the bathroom window, as I did so I noticed a small pile of bread on the windowsill (interesting because the only creature we give bread to is the fox). Next to it, on the windowsill, were a few drops of urine. I cleared them up, washed my hands, and as I left the bathroom I noticed in the bath lay an 8" long twig. Was something, probably a squirrel, planning to move in with us, I wondered? Today I kept the window pulled to.

Sunny Spring Days

Today is really warm; the garden is filled with spring flowers including hundreds of daffodils. Birds are already collecting nesting materials --watch out for tiny long-tailed tits as they search for cobwebs round the edges of windows. I have already seen both dunnocks and pigeons mating and watched robins busy with their courting ritual, note how much brighter birds colouring is now the mating season is here. Last autumn I added another three nesting boxes to the trees and bushes in the garden.

The woodpile dropped considerably during last winter, so we are topping it up from a reserve pile, which I noticed this morning appears to have blackbirds nesting in it already, I have decided to plant an evergreen clematis to grow over it, to flower at a different time to the everlasting sweetpea, clematis and honeysuckle already there. Woodpiles are invaluable in wildlife gardens as they not only give winter shelter to small creatures such as toads, hedgehogs and hibernating butterflies, but also provide a much needed breeding ground for insects. These sunny days are bringing out the bees and butterflies, so far: Whites, a beautiful Brimstone and a solitary Red Admiral -- was this a little early for the latter I wondered? This week I also heard the first frog croaking in the pond.

The pheasants continue to visit us for extra sustenance as do the garden birds, although I have noticed more territorial squabbles amongst the robins and blackbirds of late. I shall continue to feed the creatures that visit the garden, even though winter is coming to an end, as they expend a tremendous amount of energy in nest building, egg laying and chick rearing.

Heron Observations

I spent a happy half hour today watching a beautiful grey heron, for such a large bird he was so delicate in his movements. He was between the field edge and the flood water, he crept stealthily back and forth, lifting each foot in turn and bringing it slowly forward before carefully placing it in position. At times he craned forward, his neck stretched out over the water; occasionally he gently dipped into the water, shaking the drops from himself afterwards. At other times he turned his attention to the mud at the water's edge and thrust his long orange beak deep. Was he looking for worms or beetles I wondered? There were times when he stood stock still as if listening, his neck stretched as far as possible, his bill pointed upwards. His height at this point would have been about 90cm. I know herons eat fish and frogs but don't know what else. I shall have to look it up...

I did! It also eats insects, water voles and sometimes other water birds, usually young ones. I even heard tell once of one eating a young rabbit, this is only hearsay though so I don't know whether or not this is true.