It’s been a good year for apples, including the Golden Hornet crab by the pond which is covered in them. Last winter I didn’t get around to trimming off the long shoots growing up from the crown and, like the rest of the tree, they’re festooned in yellow apples. I’d normally try and prune it in the autumn but, as the tree is looking so spectacular, I’m leaving that task until the spring. The blackbirds and the mistle thrush will appreciate that.
Category: Garden
Bulbs and Corms
Thinking of spring, we’re planting bulbs. The crocus bulbs are already putting out shoots, the Eranthis, better known as winter aconite aren’t showing signs of life but they should flower before the crocuses.
The winter aconite ‘bulbs’ are actually corms, swellings of the base of the stem of the plant. A bulb is a short stem surrounded by fleshy leaves or leaf bases.
The crocus is a member of the iris family, winter aconite, as you’d guess from its large, glossy yellow flowers, is a member of the buttercup family.
Song Thrush Anting
8.30 p.m. The brown ants that nest under the paving stones at the end of the drive are running around excitedly on this still, warm summer evening, as they do when the flying ants (the queens and the males) are preparing to take off on their nuptial flights. This activity has attracted a song thrush which is sitting with its tail bent beneath it, enjoying an anting session.
With all the recent ant activity, I was thinking the other day that it’s a long time since I saw this behaviour; in fact this might be the first time that I’ve actually seen it in real life, rather than in a wildlife documentary.
After the song thrush had finished, I went out to take a closer look at the ants and there were no winged ants amongst them. Perhaps they took flight earlier in the day, or perhaps this was a false alarm from overexcited worker ants.
When I first uploaded this post, I identified it as a mistle thrush but the arrow-shaped spots show that it’s a song thrush.
Giant Hogweed
A pair of mallards negotiate the rapids below the old weir at Horbury Bridge. The shady south bank of the river resembles a jungle with reed canary grass, giant hogweed, Japanese knotweed and sycamore forming a green screen in front of the embankment wall.
The giant hogweed is starting to come into flower. This introduced species is a native of the Caucasus Region and central Asia.
The only native amongst these four plants is the reed canary grass, Phalaris. It’s like a smaller version of common reed, Phragmites.
Germander Speedwell
On our front lawn, in the shade of the rowan, germander speedwell is in flower. I’m going to mow around it when I cut the lawn.
It’s considered a weed on lawns but I like it as much as the daisies.
Bumblebees
Bumblebees are attracted to the tiny flowers of cotoneaster rather than the showy clematis that is climbing over the bush. A smaller, faster bumblebee visits the flowers of aquilegia.
A leaf mine in a bramble leaf maps the life so far of the insect that made it which was probably the larva of a small moth.
Be kind to your Shredder
I’m realising that, tough as it is, I’ve got to start being considerate to my garden shredder. In addition to the usual hedge clippings, I’ve also got grasses, docks and chicory that I’ve cut from my meadow area. I’m tempted to overload it by pushing as much in as I can but this just jams it. The best way, I’ve discovered, is to put the material through loosely in small quantities rather than in compacted wodges. As I don’t now get any jamming, this is actually quicker than cramming it in.
The one thing that will stop it with hedge trimmings is a knot of wood. This fragment of hawthorn twig had probably been bouncing around for a while inside the shredder but after I’d stopped it to empty the trug, it got firmly jammed between the blade and the housing when I turned on the machine on again.
The freshly shredded green hawthorn hedge trimmings make perfect composting material. After a day or two, when I felt just below the surface, the heap was throwing off heat and there were white ashy flakes on the edges of the leaf fragments.
Blackbird feeding Newts to Young
11.30 a.m.; The female blackbird has caught another smooth newt and is dealing with it in a corner of the lawn.
The orange on the belly of the newt shows that it’s a male.
Having killed the newt she hops to the middle of the lawn in front of the pond then flies directly to the hedge where she’s nesting amongst the elder, climbing rose, honeysuckle and ivy.
4.50 p.m.; it perches on the debris I’ve raked towards the edge of the pond. Watches for a minute or so then flits to the centre of the pond and catches a dragonfly larva. It takes this into the flower border to deal with, then flies over to the hedge then perches on the top of a gate-post next door before taking to it’s nest in the hedge, approaching from our neighbour’s side, rather than taking its usual route direct from the pond.
Lime and Apple
The hybrid limes in the Victorian gardens of Horbury are now in fresh green leaf and the apples are in blossom.
This blossom is a variety called James Grieve which is a cooker at the start of the season, an eater as it gets sweeter towards the end.
The compass and the cinema-goer were drawn in odd moments this week.
Pitch Perfect
The wild is calling me and I’m back in my tent for the first time in two years.
Admittedly I’ve only gone as far as our back lawn and pitched it overlooking the pond. The weather is fine and I don’t really need this little pop-up igloo of a tent but I need to practice putting it up and – the trickier part – folding it up and getting it back in its dustbin-lid sized bag
When I first bought it, I was glad of it when drawing rocks on the beach at Whitby. It rained quite heavily but I was able to finish my drawing from the shelter of the tent however I could not work out how to roll/fold it up again.
The life-guards of West Cliff, a helpful family by the Whalebone Arch, even a tattooed man who looked as if he’d be an expert at striking camp after a music festival were unable to help me and we drove home with the half-folded tent, like a restless Chinese New Year dragon, springing about in the boot.
This afternoon, for the first time ever, I folded it up in one go. The secret is not to try and understand how it folds up – that’s multi-dimensional thinking that would baffle Stephen Hawkings – you’ve just got to start rolling the naan bread-shaped collapsed tent from bottom to top and you’ll find yourself flanked by two small bicycle wheel-sized butterfly wings which you concertina into the bag, being careful to tuck in any overlapping canvas between the hoops so you don’t catch it in the zip fastening of the bag.
I look forward to using it again as I’m convinced that after six or seven years I’ve finally got the hang of it.
Violets
Violets grow like weeds at my mum’s house, in the borders around the edge of the lawn. It’s a long time since I sat out drawing in the front garden at Smeath House and I’d forgotten how peaceful it is here. Three rival blackbirds are singing from corners of the shrubbery. The variegated beech tree, planted by the mill-owning Baines family who built the house, shades the front lawn so that the habitat now resembles a woodland glade.
In 1960, when I was aged nine, I drew a sketch map of the bird life of shrubbery, lawn and house, including blackbirds, starlings and sparrows.
The bluebells – which I don’t believe we ever planted – look like natives. The bells hang down, while the more vigorous Spanish bluebells, which grow in the border in our own back garden, face outwards.