Monday 28 August 2017

Local patch 15

In between the squally showers that we are enjoying in August, I crunch down the path to the washing line with a basket. It is a tedious task. The house has been full this summer and the laundry is constant. The washing machine complains and rocks when it spins; invisible parts grind and groan - it is on its last legs. As am I, I think. Until I remember that I haven't scrubbed and rinsed and mangled any of this by hand, as my grandmother would have done.

This morning I paused by the giant sunflower which has seeded itself from the bird feeders and watched a wren creep up its thick, hairy stem, picking and pecking at the tiny mites and spiders. She was so confident that she moved on to the sweet pea tower. I could see her fierce beak and bright eye. Every tawny colour and stripe was clear, especially that russet tail angling away from her body, as she quickly explored the pea vines and flowers. The wren is a scurrying bird, often seen dashing across the road and disappearing into the safety of the hedge, like a fizzing, busy mouse. And so I focused tightly and totally. To the right, a huge pink hebe has taken over one of the beds; this morning it was buzzing with furry bees. I stood still and breathed deeply, engrossed in the tiny things. The beauty of holidays is not that the chores go away, but that there is also time to stop and notice. There is time to breathe and think, and time to acknowledge and celebrate the secret life that is always busy around us.



Tuesday 15 August 2017

Local patch 14

Bilbo, the labradoodle, and I do a last patrol of the garden at night. He needs to sniff and pee and check his territory. I need to lock up the chickens. We love the warm evenings, but there haven't been many of those recently, have there?

We look for the bats above the garden. Somerset is home to 15 of the 17 resident UK bat species. And we have seen several varieties above the garden, acrobatting around the walnut tree. A few years ago we bought a small bat detector - little more than a toy - and have had fun trying to judge who is making which noise! A tawny owl often calls from the trees on the field edge and last year there was a family of barn owls branching out in the neighbouring barns. But this year's washout summer has curtailed our night time wildlife watching. However, last week I noticed Bilbo behaving strangely on the moonlit lawn. He was dancing around the leaves and stems and I thought perhaps he was chasing moths. As I swivelled the torch I saw his prickly problem, he had found a large hedgehog. It balled up under the giant scabious, and by the time I had run in to call the (sleeping) family, it had trundled off. A couple of nights later, Bilbo found it again. I scooted him out of reach and watched quietly. Its sides heaved rhythmically and it slowly uncurled and tested the air. I saw its furry face and shiny blackberry nose. What a delight. Hedgehog numbers have declined so sharply in recent decades that they are now on our list of most endangered species. We have never seen one in the garden before but we are now on hog alert. We are quickly auditing the garden to make sure it is hedgehog friendly: now we have an excuse for all those untidy corners! It needs undisturbed places to rest and roost. We are glad that we have not used any toxic slug pellets his year. This one looked large and healthy - I hope he comes back soon.

Bilbo, the hedgehog hunter!




Local patch 13




Over a couple of weekends, in the dog days of summer, Ham Wall arranges canoe trips through its watery rhynes and channels. It is a chance to peer deep into the reed beds and experience parts of the reserve that are usually closed. They are popular trips and the 256 slots book up quickly. It is a quiet time in the reed beds. Mating rituals are a distant memory, populations are reasonably stable, chicks have hatched, and young have fledged or swum away. The swallows are still with us and we have not started to think (very much) about autumn migrations and our whirling, wintering starlings.

Canoeists are met at the visitor centre and welcomed to the reserve. We walk the small groups (about 16 per time) along the disused railway line beside the canal. As we pass the first viewing platform we note the moorhen and coot families on the reduced pools. A marsh harrier quarters above the reeds. There is always a marsh harrier. We turn across the canal. A large group of mute swans, perhaps 40 or 50 have moved in and the banks are slippery with mud and feathers from their group preening. As we chat, several visitors confess to feeling nervous - mostly about getting in and out of the canoes! Deep in the reserve, we are met at the jetty by the Reserve Warden who accompanies the trips and describes the wildlife and habitats, and by the canoe instructor. After a quick guide to paddling, visitors are clicked into buoyancy aids and loaded into the large, stable Canadian canoes. There is the slap of water against hull. The large wooden paddles clunk against the sides and splash on the water; canoes bump gently against each other as everyone finds their balance and rhythm. Excited chatter and nervous laughter quietens as they concentrate on moving forwards. Some people paddle off confidently, others turn in gentle circles or head resolutely into the reeds. Gradually the group moves away, leaving small waves and increasingly wide ripples. Fish flip on the surface, ducks hoot and gabble in the stems. 

Groups return with huge grins and usually paddling confidently. Time spent on the water has been peaceful and relaxing. Some have close encounters with kingfishers, several see bitterns and some groups are lucky enough to be accompanied by clans of bearded tits. But most comment on the quiet rhythms of the water and the hiss of the wind in the reeds.

This year's canoe trips have been popular and fun. The 'dog days' of summer have not been hot and sultry yet but our canoeists have enjoyed themselves, whatever the weather.