Unpleasant stuff first - the development of land beyond the field for Brabazon continues apace, and is creeping closer. We knew this was going to happen, but each depredation is painful. I've taken to reminding myself that nature knows nothing of time. It's already witnessed huge changes over millennia, and one day in its not-too-distant future it will conquer the 'new playground for Bristol's next generation'.
A couple of weeks back I finally ventured over the other side of Fishpool Hill, where the road-building is more advanced. Luckily I approached it from Catbrain Lane, rather than the old familiar route past Elm Farm, which would have made the sorrow worse.
Back in July, the burnet saxifrage was flowering prolifically...
One fruit I was sure we'd be picking a lot of was damsons, since the blossom, although late, was extraordinarily thick, but the subsequent weather conditions clearly didn't suit the developing fruit, and like the cherries up the park, which were virtually non-existent, we decided to leave what fruit there was for the birds and badgers. On the other hand, there were a lot of blackberries, which seemed to give Cwtch the zoomies.
Some of the other oaks have, though, and I was intrigued by the anomalies to the central and right hand acorns in the photo below, which have been visited by the splendidly named Knopper Gall wasp and Oak Apple Gall wasp respectively, the other two excrescence being Robin's pincushions on dog roses, of course, courtesy the Bedeguar Gall wasp.
Clockwise, from top left: one of the tiger moth caterpillars?, meadow brown, comma, two photos of one brown argus, small heath and cinnabar moth caterpillar, speckled brown, green-veined white, red admiral, holly blue, common blue, gatekeeper female and male, large white
Rather more subtle are the prints the roe deer leave around the field and through the Small Dark Wood of the Mind. They're still mostly out on the farmland, though, as the diggers rumble closer.
Meanwhile, for the first time the muntjac, long rumoured to live alongside dragons in the thickest thickets of Charlton Common, have been more in evidence, doubtless as a result of all the disturbance. Colin and Cwtch saw one near Goat Willow bus stop, and several times I've heard and glimpsed one running to and fro along the bank in Rooky Wood.
The sun has set its way back south, along the hills of South Wales, and has now left the arena until next March. Here's a few of its best efforts.
And look at the dance lessons for beetles printed on the inside.
The edge of the Small Dark Wood of the Mind
The field which had the bottom hedgerow removed some months ago, with the pond and the abandoned shopping trolley that would take unwary passers-by in a death roll given half a chance, and the Spirit of Dark and Lonely Water, the field that used to look like this ...
... now looks like this. Clearly we need more housing, especially affordable stock (though why some housing is unaffordable when a roof over your head is a basic human right is beyond me.) But leaving all that aside, it's hard to bear.
Closer to home, Charlton Common is now a 'site' and sections of the Skylarks Field have been fenced off.
The houses already under construction where the buses turn are more advanced than when I took this photo in mid-September and now have roofs ...
... while the bosky edge of the common that looked like this at the end of July ...
... has been stripped of trees and brush in readiness for the widening of the road.
Worst of all, several sections of hedgerow around the Skylarks' Field have been cut right down. The kissing gate onto Far Field, which looked like this in September ...
... now looks like this:
... while this hedgerow, pictured on the left hand side in May and so old you could walk along it on the inside, has been cut to the ground in places.
Since they are clearly marked on the plans, I'm hoping they might be allowed to grow again, but the trees are, to all intents and purposes, lost.
Here's some photos of the as yet untouched areas; so glad I have this blog to remind me of their beauty.
But that's enough of that.
After the drought of May and early June, it was a wet summer, but there were some beautiful days too in the Field of the Hollowing Oak, when it was lovely to have the excuse to spend an hour and half every day out in nature. (Hooray for dogs and their need to be walked.)
Even the Small Dark Wood of the Mind was fecund and lovely, and clearly I wasn't the only person to think so as someone draped a pair of ladies' drawers on the Silver Chair in the Grove of the Silver Chair (and Ruby Crown), presumably as an offering to Aphrodite or Freyja.
The rain meant that some flowers and trees didn't blossom or fruit as expected. It was a good year for yarrow; not so much for hogweed or carrots.
Even so, there was a display of the latter, which always amaze me by the individuality of their blooms. I likened them to fingerprints; my cousin said 'no, they're like snowflakes', and she's right, it's the better analogy.
... as was the betony in the middle of the field ...
... the great willowherb, bright against stormclouds ...
... and horseshoe vetch ...
... plus (clockwise from top left), hemp-agrimony, tufted vetch and bindweed, rosebay willowherb, scarlet pimpernel and knapweed, yarrow, tufted vetch and ragwort, chamomile, stone parsley, wild clematis, poppy, cyclamen, teasels and double buttercups ...
... and (also clockwise) purple loosestrife, red bartsia, red clover and fleabane, escaped crocosmia and purple toadflax, pink purple toadflax, mugwort, agrimony, lady's thumb (redshank) and wild basil.
Oh and this October, one of my favourites, Michaelmas daisy also showed itself, the first time I'd seen it in the Field of the Hollowing Oak. There's a photo of it below, with the most beautiful bee on it.
Oh and this October, one of my favourites, Michaelmas daisy also showed itself, the first time I'd seen it in the Field of the Hollowing Oak. There's a photo of it below, with the most beautiful bee on it.
One fruit I was sure we'd be picking a lot of was damsons, since the blossom, although late, was extraordinarily thick, but the subsequent weather conditions clearly didn't suit the developing fruit, and like the cherries up the park, which were virtually non-existent, we decided to leave what fruit there was for the birds and badgers. On the other hand, there were a lot of blackberries, which seemed to give Cwtch the zoomies.
In the end, she took to picking her own.
TOP: Blackberries, cuckoo pint and elderberries, damsons, crabapples, bryony berries, rosehips, haws
Another seasonal anomaly: so prodigious was its flowering that I confidently predicted the hollowing oak was going to produce a mass of acorns for the first time since our old collie, Ted, died back in 2020, but it hasn't.
Some of the other oaks have, though, and I was intrigued by the anomalies to the central and right hand acorns in the photo below, which have been visited by the splendidly named Knopper Gall wasp and Oak Apple Gall wasp respectively, the other two excrescence being Robin's pincushions on dog roses, of course, courtesy the Bedeguar Gall wasp.
There's been a lot of discussion on Twitter as to whether it's been a bad year or a good year for insects. My feeling was that there were fewer to be seen, but my memory for such things is unreliable. So here's a few insects I saw and managed to photograph.
Clockwise, from top left: one of the tiger moth caterpillars?, meadow brown, comma, two photos of one brown argus, small heath and cinnabar moth caterpillar, speckled brown, green-veined white, red admiral, holly blue, common blue, gatekeeper female and male, large white
A couple of weeks ago I had the joy of seeing ivy flowers covered in a haberdashery of red admirals, plus one comma butterfly. I managed to capture one of the former sunning itself within reach of my camera phone.
This creature - the Silver Y moth - gets an extra-large gallery to itself because it was new to me when I saw it and have you ever seen such a stunning moth? Look at its determined little face in the third photo!
I also spotted a couple of bees that were new to me.
TOP: 1 & 2. Buff-tailed bumble on tufted vetch and bindweed 3. Red-tailed and Common Carder bumble bees on betony 4 & BOTTOM 5. Common Carder on betony and red clover 6 & 7. Tree bumble on clover and tufted vetch 8. A hornet
Oh and look at this beauty, a native wild honey bee on those Michaelmas daisies I mentioned above.
And some sundries ... TOP: 1. Definitely far fewer red soldier beetles this year, probably due to the comparative scarcity of hogweed; here's some on the less favoured yarrow 2 & 3. A mottled grasshopper, and one shedding its exoskeleton 4. Greenbottle BOTTOM: 5. Green stink bug and its nymph (above) 6. Daddy-long-legs 7 & 8. Ladybirds
Lastly, the annual '¡No pasarán!' of Common European spiders with a penchant for building webs across the footpath. (I do try very hard to avoid them, but each time I stray, Collie Cwtch comes barrelling back to harry me onto the straight and narrow, and as often as not, charges straight through them.)
As for bigger beasts, a recent foray into the Grove of the Silver Chair (and Ruby Crown) revealed badger latrines; they also spent much of late summer marking the paths around the field, as usual.
Rather more subtle are the prints the roe deer leave around the field and through the Small Dark Wood of the Mind. They're still mostly out on the farmland, though, as the diggers rumble closer.
Meanwhile, for the first time the muntjac, long rumoured to live alongside dragons in the thickest thickets of Charlton Common, have been more in evidence, doubtless as a result of all the disturbance. Colin and Cwtch saw one near Goat Willow bus stop, and several times I've heard and glimpsed one running to and fro along the bank in Rooky Wood.
The rookery is starting to fill up at dusk, as the rooks and jackdaws return from their summer holidays and use it for their winter roost ... just in time to harrass this poor kestrel trying to secure itself some tea.
Early August brought evidence of a very late clutch of blackbird eggs out in Far Field ...
... but my greatest avian-related joy has been an exciting haul of feathers, which has more than repaid the constant checking of endless woodpigeon feathers in case they turn out to be ... a jay feather, whoop whoop!
A representative selection includes TOP: 1 & 2. Magpie 3. Magpie and blackbird 4. Crow BOTTOM: 5. Feral pigeon 6. Herring gull 7. Goldfinch 8. Great tit
Two very scruffy tawny owl secondaries ...
... and four barn owl feathers, found together in Dead Deer Field, days after I'd invoked the God of Fallen Feathers with the suggestion the season was over. (It is now.)
elephant clouds
sunset over Twmbarlwm
Sunset over Mynydd Machen
In common with this upsidedown year, autumn seemed to be sparking in August, only to burn very slowly indeed.
storm damage
1st October light
I'm not great at identifying fungus, but here are inkcaps, shaggy bracket, waxcaps, field mushroom, turkey tails, little brown mushrooms, plus two I named myself, bottom row furthest left, Cream before Jam (of course) and Mouldy Omelette.
Wouldn't this bark make the most brilliant inspiration for a knitted jumper, or even a cast for a broken arm?
And look at the dance lessons for beetles printed on the inside.
Otherwise, it's back to the wellies through the wood, but for every bit of perilously slippy mud ...
... there are fractal raindrops. Which just goes to show it's we who wreak the chaos, not nature.
As it runs wilder with each year, I tell myself the Field of the Hollowing Oak is remembering itself as a field, and then the grasses die back and I see how the sapling oaks and thorn trees have grown, and realise it's remembering itself as wildwood.
The rookery
The edge of the Small Dark Wood of the Mind
