The Whole of the Spring

We were on the brink of spring when I last wrote about Elsewhere, the patch of edgelands in North Bristol that we visit most days with our collie, Cwtch, and now Springwatch has just started on BBC 2, which means it must be summer. But there's been a Disturbance in the Force this year, by which I mean the key marker for me of Spring all but passed me by. 

It started well.  The catkins weren't quite as stunning as last year ... 

but the other trees were doing really well:

the goat willow at the bus stop 

cherry blossom in the Small Dark Wood of the Mind

blackthorn

crabapple

spindle - so overlookable, so delicate, so beautiful 

But let's just go back to blackthorn for a moment. Beautiful blossom, dangerous spikes. Here's me after an encounter with one as we made our way back to the car, dodging muddy puddles in the Small Dark Wood of the Mind. I'd just been explaining to the Northerner how I'd probably come to terms with never climing Everest, then walked slap bang into it. 

The rather more benign hollowing oak is now fully dressed for summer, but without flowering this year, so no acorns. Mind you, there were no acorns last year either, despite an abundance of blossom; in fact, the last time there was mast was in 2020, when acorns the colour of my old collie's eyes covered the ground in the month of his death.

But spring, for me, is whitethorn. I love it, love its smell, love the headiness of it all. It's a little later coming where we walk, but by the end of the first week of May, it was really getting going ... 

... and then suddenly the petals browned and dropped and that was that. 

Maybe after last year's extraordinary display of blossom, the whitethorns need to take it easy. Or maybe there was something amiss with the weather conditions - it's been pretty wet, and not just in our corner of the country. Anyway, there's still the elder blossom to love, though it too is rather less extravagant than previous seasons ... 

... and I can't help feeling a bit cheated. And now there's another eleven months to wait for another heady dive into that glorious sight and smell.

No sooner had I finished the last blog, in a sea of mud, than flowers - far too many to post individually - started blooming. 

CLOCKWISE: dog violet; dog's mercury; scurvy grass; red dead nettle; shepherd's purse; alexanders; green alkanet; bittercress

celandine

CLOCKWISE: cuckoo pint; wood anemone; cleavers; bluebells; cowslips; lamb's lettuce; bracken; field mustard

the forget-me-not path

CLOCKWISE: bugle; buttercups; pignut; ground ivy; lesser celandine; common chickweed; bush vetch; hogweed

Jack-by-the-hedge or garlic mustard

CLOCKWISE: poppy; black mustard; red clover; cut-leaved crane's bill; field madder; wood avens; bramble blossom; common vetch

cow parsley

CLOCKWISE: dog roses; moon daisies; greater bird's-foot trefoil; periwinkle in continuous blossom since November; black medick; woody nightshade; honeysuckle  

Finally, one of my very favourites, wild salsify - almost more beautiful when they're still caged in their sepals, before they're fully out. I haven't spotted the purple variety up the field before, and I hope to filch a few seeds for my garden once they go over.

 The insects have been slower coming, and even now, at the end of a changeable May, butterflies and bees seem few and far between.

CLOCKWISE: Ashy mining bee; Early mining bee; Grey-patched mining bee; White-bellied mining bee; Common Carder bumble bee; Buff-tailed bumble bee; two honey bees

CLOCKWISE: Peacock butterfly; Comma butterfly; Speckled Wood butterfly; Small Tortoiseshell butterfly; Small Heath butterfly; Green-veined white butterfly; Green carpet moth

Orange-tips have had a bad spring this year, by all accounts, though there were a fair few up the Field of the Hollowing Oak, with an abundance of their favourite host plants about - cuckoo flowers and Jack by the hedge. 

A male and two female Orange-tips

All Orange-tips are skittish and difficult to photograph ... except when they're having sex. Cwtch the collie actually barged her way over the top of them and they still didn't budge. 

This was a new species for me - the Latticed Heath moth. It's really quite small. I thought at first it must really like butter, but their wings do have a yellow tinge to them. 

CLOCKWISE: Common Cardinal beetle; Brassica Shield bug; Harlequin ladybird; Seven-spotted ladybird; thick-legged clower beetles shagging and fighting; rose chafer

CLOCKWISE: Tapered drone fly; Green bottle fly; Scorpion fly; Golden dung fly; Orange muscid fly; cuckoo spit sereted by froghopper nymphs; ants feeding on hogweed; wolf spider 

Another bringer of spring, the chiffchaff, made itself heard on 13th March. I've also heard it in my garden this year for the first time, which is really pleasing. There was another, rather more unusual visitor, also in March when there was still quite a lot of floodwater lying about, and that was a heron, who was repeatedly mobbed by gulls. 

Otherwise, it's been pretty much business as usual: new life, and death to feed that new life.

blackbird eggs

Snails and a thrush's anvil in Rooky Wood

Best not to think about fate of nestlings when a parent is predated

kestrel hunting

My slug ID skills are limited, but I'm going to take a punt and say this is an example of The Black Slug.

So often I only realise a species is present when I find one dead. Usually it's shrews, rats or mice; this is a bank vole.

three roe deer

another roe deer ... just to the right of the tree trunk

One of the most concerning things, that isn't as noticeable now it's not as muddy as it was, is the way animal tracks have changed since building started down by Charlton Common. There have been roe deer tracks in the field and woods around them all the time we've been walking here, but now there are more badger tracks, and muntjac too, crammed into the same small areas.  I hope at least the badgers can get through the fence into the woods around the Airbus factories. Maybe the roe and muntjac know ways through too. 

CLOCKWISE:  1,2,3 & 4. Badger tracks  5. Badger and roe deer  6. Roe deer and muntjac  7. Muntjac  8. Roe deer scat  9. Muntjac scat  10. Hedgehog tracks

As for the development of Brabazon itself, well, it continues. House building has started in the Skylarks field and part of the Field of the Barn Owl Feathers ... 

... and the noise of building work is pervasive when we're walking out on the fields. Even half-drowning yourself doesn't work. (NB. Worms can survive for several weeks underwater as their skin can absorb oxygen from the water.)

Meanwhile, Charlton Common is starting to recover from the inexplicable and severe mowing it suffered ... 

... and nature is reclaiming the temporary car park ... 

... and the damage caused by heavy plant last autumn in the Far Field.

The latter two recoveries are, of course, only temporary, but such is the buttercuppery and beauty, we're making the most of walking here when we can and while we can.  Every day could be the final time.

 As I mentioned before, it's been a wet spring, so not many sunsets to share as yet. Here's one apiece from March, April and May.

Looking ahead, feather season will be starting soon ... I've found just one magpie tail feather so far ... and hoggin-hunting is always in season, though growing vegetation makes it harder to spot. 

I wonder if the green tiles came from a fireplace, maybe from one of the razed cottages of Charlton village ... or if it's from further afield. Who knows. 

And as always on our walks there's Cwtch, our collie, who probably stops me seeing a lot of things as she hurtles around, but who's our reason for getting out in nature so often, as well as a joy in her own right, even if she does chase crows ... 

... and do uncanny impressions of grass snakes. (This is not my photo of a grass snake; I've only ever seen the arse end of one disappearing into a hedge in Devon.) 

Walking in our little bit of wild and paying attention to things and the changing of the seasons is a valuable anchor to have when life feels like it might vanish with a bang and a flap.