Spiders Courting

The other afternoon while glancing out of the back bedroom window, my attention was caught by a short-tailed field vole running back and forth along the top of the bank. Suddenly, I noticed a beautiful spider’s web on a buddleia. It stretched hugely between the branches. I love cobwebs; I find them not only intricate, but also fascinating. Just imagine not only being able to make a web, but also to produce the silk to do so yourself.

As I admired the web, I noticed sitting in the top right-hand corner, its maker. I watched hoping a butterfly would not get trapped, as I would have to go outside to rescue it. All of a sudden, the whole web vibrated as a second spider ran on to it from below; instantly the first spider ran out and down toward the newcomer. She rushed at him until he backed off. To make it easier I shall refer to the first spider as she/her and the second spider as he.

This happened several times and by now I was intrigued. I felt he obviously wanted to make contact, but her movements were aggressive while his were tentative and nervous. I wondered if he was courting her, having read that this act could result in the female devouring the male, I decided to stay watching. After twenty minutes of his slow approaches, followed quickly by his withdrawals, he lost courage altogether and left the scene.

From the kitchen window, I watched dragonflies hawking insects, whirring helicopter-like across the lawn. One particular large brown dragonfly, with wings outstretched and its length from nose to tail, reminded me of a wren, both in size and color.

I have been lucky enough to spot red kites in this area: one above Ware, another over the A10, the fourth one over the M11, and the best of all, the third one, was right over my own garden.

Lapwings, Curlews and Bright Skies

A flock of two dozen or more lapwings are in the field beyond the paddock. Absolutely stunning in flight and so pretty when they landed with their shimmering green feathers and crests. Among the lapwings are several curlews. Interesting to see these two species together and to note how much bigger the curlew is compared to the lapwing.

The sky was amazing tonight. It was one of the brightest skies I have ever seen, and such intriguing colours and patterns made by the clouds. I took photographs.

Spider and Fly

I noticed a spider’s thread glistening in the light across the window. The daylight picked out the thread. It did not appear part of a web, though it could have been in the process of being made. Now I see, the web is a poor thing, and the spider looks like an ordinary garden spider with stripy legs. The design may look bad to me, but is clearly effective. For while I watch, a fly has become entangled in the line and the spider hurried across and has snatched at his prey and bound it over and over again, until it ceased struggling and is no more than a white-shrouded victim. The spider then retired to the side of his web and sat there. A second insect was quickly trapped and dealt with in the same manner as the first. The spider moved him to the edge of the web, then went back to the first victim and brought him to the same spot as the second one, and appears to be, while holding it with his front legs, sucking dry the second victim. One insect less for the bats, three types of which fly over the garden at night. The spider now satiated sits fatly on the side of his web.

Autumn Changes

We are traveling along the A10 to Addenbrookes. The hawthorne berries are hanging heavy on the may trees, weighing down the branches. Whether it is a sign of a hard winter to come, or not, I am unsure, but I do know that it bodes well for our feathered friends. Large bunches of sycamore keys, prettily pale green, and so prolific standing out from the darker green leaves of the tree, each bunch settled lower than their adjacent leaves. I just noticed the beautiful blue-black of the sloe berries thickly filling the spaces along their prickly, leafy branches.

This summer, my life changed. At the end of May I was diagnosed with a form of lung cancer, it is caused by a gene mutation (why? how? I don’t know, but would be interested to), and interestingly primarily affects non-smoking women. I don’t know what my future holds now. I do know that although my flesh may be weak my spirit is strong and I shall fight this with all my might. I am a strong person and have my family firmly behind me. I will continue with my nature notes. Writing them has given me much pleasure, and to know at the same time, they are giving pleasure to my readers makes it all the more special.

The rose bay willow herb flowers are over, and instead we have whirls of feathery seeds, all intermingled with the down of the thistles, which grow hard against them.

Summer Fades to Autumn

We are on our way to Addenbrookes, but this time not on the pretty A10. Because we had to drop off a prescription at the doctor’s office we will be taking the M11.

Although it is lunchtime, a layer of mist lays low across the meadows. It is that time of year when summer gives way to autumn and bright autumn berries mingle with pretty summer roses. The leaves on horse chestnut trees are brown, and the prickly green conker cases are clearly visible.

A surprisingly short show of Himalayan Balsam edges a pond. I have seen these plants standing tall before, but here they are densely packed, prettily pink and white, only 2-3 feet high.

My month away from home has wrought many changes. Today I saw a young hedgehog wandering the garden and hurried out to feed him. He ate speedily and then set off across the lawn to a birdbath, climbed up on the side and leaned over to have a long drink. He surprised me by climbing right into the birdbath and just standing there. He did drink while in the water, but the majority of the time he just stood. Eventually he climbed out and sat grooming himself for ages.

The fields are looking bare. The harvest has been gathered in and fields that have not been already ploughed have only stubble remaining. Great flocks of birds are either settled gleaning goodies or flying low over the fields perhaps searching for future meals.

An abundance of windfall apples litter the motorway verges and here and there a pheasant fallen prey to the speed of vehicles.

The flower heads on the ivy look beautiful. They are thick this year and form a dense covering that completely obscures the ivy leaves below.

A Weasel & Thin Squirrels

It’s Friday night. All week I’ve been away from home, with thoughts of the weasel darting and chasing through my head. Now, I stand in my kitchen; look down to the pond, and like magic he appears. My grandson sees him: “It is the first time I’ve ever seen a weasel alive and not running across a road”, he says. "He looks a bit like a sausage with one end raised up". I can’t take my eyes off this pretty scampering fellow. Back and forth across the lawn, round and about the pond, in and out of the geraniums, he appears and disappears so quick – he’s so sprightly. While we’re still enjoying his capering fun he disappears up the bank and leaves us elated, but bereft. Happy to have seen him and so sad he’s gone.

Along the A10, the roadside verges have changed. They are almost totally different. The heavy rain showers of late have greened the grass and caused a new outcrop of wild flowers. We passed a massive colony of rose bay willow herb still standing purple and proud, but the crowd of thistles in front was smothered in a thick layer of down. It had been broken at the edges by the insistent wind, carrying the seeds off to pastures new. As a child, I collected this down and made doll’s pillows and mattresses for my sisters’ dolls with it.

The thin squirrels are insistently banging on the windows asking for food – summer is their hardest time. And more squirrels starve to death at this time of year than most people realize. Happily, while I’ve been away, my son has fed them.

The Dry Garden

The weather remains hot and almost totally dry with very little rain – so little, in fact, that when it happens it’s instantly absorbed and evaporated and makes no difference to the garden.

The marrow plant has 5 marrows, each about 8” long. Most of the flowers produced by the marrow plant are gobbled up by the deer, so few fruits are produced. The butternut squash plants produce plenty of flowers, but as yet no fruit, due again, of course, to the deer’s’ dining habits. Perhaps I should just take a leaf from the deer’s book and use the flowers in a salad, or even make a nice corn flour batter and after clipping the flowers fry them crisply in sweet virgin olive oil. Somehow though, I think I’ll keep my fingers crossed and hope, by and by, for some flowers to be spared and few butternut squash to grow. Last year’s crop tasted far better than any purchased in a supermarket.

The lawn remains more dead than alive looking although I know it will come back lush and green, in time. I felt sorry for the birds today, pecking away at the dry hard lawn, so I threw on to the centre of the lawn an apple, a tomato, and 3 plums, watching carefully. I was surprised to see a male blackbird chose, not the apple or the plums, but went straight for the tomato and made a feast of it – delightful to watch.

The plums are growing well in the Victoria tree, but it is always a battle between the wasps, the birds, and us to see who does best. The conference pear tree has been great this year due to the bees moving into the blue tit box. The family of blue tits moved out and the babies are back in the garden now, and divide their time between the peanuts, the fat balls, and the pears on the tree. I think they will be the winners of the pear tree fruit this year.

Annoyances: Cancer and Burrs

Oncologist appointment at Addenbrookes, followed by planning scan for radiotherapy.

Traveling as usual the pretty A10, with its patchwork of fields stretching out from each side, with occasional villages and small towns to pass through.

It is a mainly straight road, with just one stretch of dual carriageway, stretching almost all the way between the Harlow roundabout and the Braughing turning. Almost the entire journey is made so pleasant by the wild flowers which cover the verges, great armies of stately rose bay willow herb, climbing out of ditches, marching along straights and ascending banks verging the verges, they march together with armies of thistles, once stunningly purple, now fluffy-headed. The tall grasses have now turned golden in the warmth of the sun and with the lack of rain. The umbellifers now stand head and shoulders above the other flowers and are but seed heads now, but how magnificent they look, standing sentinel above the others. I love to squat down and photograph these monstrously large plants, against a clear blue sky.

A walk by the river yesterday evening, showed the burdocks with their enormous leaves and round prickly offerings, drying on the plants, not only in readiness to procreate but also patiently waiting for dogs with their furry coats to pass by, each prickle on the burr has a little hook on the end and it is very effective, many country walks have ended with twenty minutes of burrs being picked off socks, trousers, sweaters and jackets; gardening gloves are best to be worn when doing this as the hooks also like to engage with skin.

Better even than skin is dog fur, for many years we had shelties (Shetland sheepdogs) their beautiful long fur was exactly right for the burrs and our four-legged friends were sometimes so entangled by these prickly seeds that it became impossible for them to walk, and we would stop and have to spend ages trying to free them. At last I wised up, after many years, and took a small pair of scissors on walks for the worst ones were always caught up in the soft fur where the leg meets the body; it must have been so unpleasant for our little friends – who were so frolicksome and happy when released.

Roadside Verges in July

Off to Addenbrookes for early appointment.

Stately spires of purples and rose-pink rose bay willow herb grew in sweeping swathes along the roadside verges, side by side with tall, purple prickly thistles, nearby nestling close to the ground and shining brightly upward are immense patches of the brightest yellow tom thumb, here and there meadowsweet grows, and I wish we could stop and I could press my face into its flowers and drink in its pleasant sweetness. No wonder in medieval times it was used by cottagers to strew on the earthen floors of their dwellings.

The grass on all the verges is now straw-coloured and in places has died away to expose the stony ground it grows upon. Vetch grows bushlike, two feet high and more flowers than leaves, a few pale mauve, but mostly white, pinky-mauve mallow flowers lay mostly along the ground, just lifting their pretty heads as if showing the sun their faces. Here and there, bright red poppies, the same shade as my arterial blood, drift alongside the road and sit pleasantly among the other flowers. We have had many hot days now and on every one of them the grass-snakes are to be found in and around the pond. As I write, I suddenly realize there are no fish and no newts, frogs or tadpoles to be seen, of course they have made fine meals for the snakes. I would like to think lurking among the stones a few have managed to survive, frogs and toads will have spawned and left the pond, but of course, tiny toadlings, froglets and baby newts will have been eaten by the snakes.