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I had to show you these photos.
new born roe deer fawn in Lost Meadow
Walking with the dogs an hour or so ago we were coming up through some woodland at the edge of the moor into what I call the Lost Field (it’s a small hidden meadow surrounded by woodland, silently quiet and heaving with wildlife) when we surprised a roe deer. I dropped the dogs instantly. As she bounded off I noticed liquid spraying out from her behind.
tiny, still damp and perfect
“What on earth…?” I thought. Then it dawned, we’d unfortunately disturbed her in the middle of dropping her fawn.
Gathering the dogs close to me and keeping as silent and as unobtrusive as we could we walked quickly across the field but there right in our path was the newborn fawn; tiny, minute and damply perfect. Hissing at the dogs to lie down and not move a muscle I quickly took some photos. Shaking in haste I thought the pictures would be useless. But they are OK.
can you see its tiny pink tongue?
I hope with all my heart the doe finds the courage to return. I did my best not to leave too much of my scent nearby, and we left without disturbing her fawn.
female orange tip butterfly on lady's smock
May, extraordinary exuberant May. How can anyone fail to be blown away by such a stunning month? I walk with my eyes out on stalks. They sweep across the multi-layers of a green-gold filigree landscape and down to minute iridescent creatures nestled in the heart of a buttercup. Every sense is tingled and tweezed.
the tiny micropterix calthella moth on a buttercup. See the mating pair?
The scent of blossoms is exquisite yet elusive, I catch a wisp, a suggestion – then it’s gone – I find myself sniffing, head up like a wild animal. Greens, there are so many and each with its own aroma; nasal sharp and acid citrus-bright, crushed bitter-sweet liquor and garlic-pungent aromatics – I taste each smell on my tongue.
*bog-bean blooming in Rob's Folly - Forty Acres
I become sensitised to sound. Like a tuning fork I pick up the buzz and whir of the insect world under the constant celebration of bird song. The steady bass drone of the bumble bee, the frenetic high-pitched whine of the midge and the scary cacophony of a billion cluster flies taking off from the thatch as the sun pops out from behind a cloud. Fragile daddy-long-legs flip-flap knocking and bumping with flimsy clumsiness and March flies thistledown around your head, sticking in your hair, eyes and lips.
blue tit nest and eggs in birdbox
Life’s abundant. It’s everywhere. There’s a continuous rustling and scurrying in the trees, hedgerows and verges. And did you know we’ve hares in the far River Meadow? I’m so excited; it’s unusual for this non-arable part of the world. And the Hobby is back!
male greenfinch (google images)
“There’s a greenfinch! Quick! Come and look!” Robert was shout-whispering up at me from the kitchen. “I thought they were all dead! That’s good. Oh it’s wonderfully marked too. Beautiful!” he paused “Come on, come down quickly. But don’t make a noise!” He hissed up the stairs.
My office is just above the kitchen with the same, but elevated, view of the bird table. “I can see it from up here.” I whispered “Oh look, and there’s the female. Just behind the chaffinch. Can you see?”
“No, no that’s another female chaff…oh no, yes, wait, yeh, I can. That’s nice. That is nice. I really thought they were all done for. We haven’t seen any this year, have we? Do you remember when there were hundreds of them?”
Our bird table, directly outside the kitchen window, is a huge source of pleasure to us and to friends and visitors. Many’s the time when someone new to the farm becomes mesmerised mid-sentence as some bird or other is spotted feeding and they’ll turn to you with excitement, gabbling “I just saw three nuthatches (or marsh/willow tits, greater spotted woodpecker babies or similar). I did. There. On the table!” Jabbing a finger in the direction of the window they are rather nonplussed by our nonchalance!
We are lucky, we have huge variety and number of birds that come to feed; most probably because we are in such a rural position and there are no other bird feeding stations for miles around, unlike those more urban locations where the birds can become picky due to the vast choice available to them.
But back to the greenfinches. They used to be one of the most numerous birds at the bird table when we first put up in its current spot about thirteen years ago. But over the last few years they have declined rapidly (possibly due to the trichomoniasis outbreak) and now we are lucky if we see just a few a year. Robert is worried, especially as they were so common. (Oh excitement again…I’ve just been downstairs to let the puppy out and seen another female greenfinch feeding!). But they appear to still have green (OK) status with the RSPB. Are they all with you?
bullfinch on nest
It used to be the other way round with the bullfinch though. Now there’s a bird that’s increased markedly in numbers around our bird table. We are so used to the eye-catching bright pink-red of the male, that now we would prefer to see the subtler greens and yellows of the greenfinch! Still, we’re not complaining. Bullfinches have red (threatened) status because they’ve declined so much nationally. (I suppose it’s only right that greenfinches should have green status and bullfinches red status.) We are lucky to have so many of them, and they don’t damage the fruit trees much, as far as we know. Robert thinks it’s the thick dense hedges we have, that keep their nests safe from marauding magpies and jays, which explains why they do so well with us. This year he’s found a couple of nests, and photographed one. That and the constant supply of sunflower seeds!
bullfinch nest and eggs
turnout 29 April - in Cow Moor with some of the herd
It’s done – they’re out! Well, bar a handful of dry cows that’ll stay in to finish the remains of opened haylage bales.
I expected the new bull might be tricky to move. Buying him when I did last autumn he didn’t have an opportunity to run with the herd and he isn’t familiar with our farm or boundaries. Apart from which frustration and hormonal overload could make him very unpredictable. Not counting his twelve hour steamy sexathon with Severn back last September he’s been denied sex and those tantalising teasing heifers have been keeping him on his toes!
appraising...
He came out of his pen as if ignited by rocket fuel. The almost-tonne of him bucked, kicked and charged through the cow palace roaring like the minotaur himself. And those saucy heifers with their come-hither eyes? Not so quick to throw their knickers at him now – they backed into the furthest corner of their pen, huddled and quaking, refusing to budge and inch!
We eventually persuaded them out of their corner and into the yard to face their bête noir. We then brought the cows and new calves into the group and were ready for the off.
I shout from inside the cow palace “Okay, calves okay. Ready when you are. Stop if I shout…”
Robert and Olly yell above the incessant cacophony of calling cattle “We’re opening the top yard gate now. You ready?”
“Yes” I scream over the noise – and the jostling rolling tide of heaving motley-moulting red bodies surges forward leaving baby calves standing and stunned as their mothers disappear from sight.
It’s my job to keep the calves grouped and moving as best I can until they get the hang of running with the herd. All these calves have known is their secure cow palace world. One calf manages to slip through a gap by the cattle crush. I shriek “Hang on! Escapee, escapee. Hold the cattle!”
new man? Okaaay...
Olly and Robert do their best to steady and hold the stampede as I manoeuvre the calf back in with its herd. As I succeed the bull and a heifer break rank and steam off down the lane…we let them run holding back the cows; we know they won’t go too far (here’s praying) without the main herd. The herd strains and pushes forward eager to catch up with the disappearing pair though luckily Robert and Olly manage to control the pace.
We are prepared, the gate to Cow Moor is open and the rest of the lane blocked off, the bull and his consort swerve into the field, Robert and Olly step aside allowing the cattle to stream in after them. It’s done. The herd is safe and contained. We leave them in Cow Moor for the morning to let off steam, establish the pecking order and come to terms with the appearance of a new bull. After lunch, when they are hopefully calmer, we will walk them a mile or so down the road to the River Meadows.
this looks as if I'm cheering with relief...I was actually trying to get rid of midges biting my ear!
The weather is all too seducing. I feel like a naughty schoolgirl playing truant as I abandon indoor chores.
“I have to go and pick up some bales from the top.” I call out to anyone listening as I guiltily slide out of the office donning wellies and sunglasses (the eyes haven’t recovered from troglodyte-sight following the last couple of years’ rain). On the bobcat I change the scraper for the grab and trundle off up the lane, dogs in tow. The snail pace of the bobcat feels just fine today, and despite the engine noise the vibrant gloriousness of the farm can be hungrily appreciated.
Mission accomplished all too quickly so I reluctantly return to my office and try to concentrate. I get sidetracked by twitter, I get sidetracked by chatty emails, I get sidetracked by the phone. I just get side tracked by anything.
Robert calls up the stairs “Want to come on a walk?”
to help a new puppy acclimatise themselves with the farm and surrounds whilst keeping safe, I carry them in a rucksack in between letting them explore. Willow has taken to this means of transport like a duck to water
“I’m trying to work.” I shout back “Trying…” And it’s definitely trying “So yes please…hold on a second and I’m there.” I give up all pretence, close down the computer, grab socks, rucksack, puppy and dogs and I’m off.
Robert’s day time interest-of-the moment is hoverflies. Having been on his course he’s all fired up. So with butterfly net, collection jars and an insect pooter – a thing to suck up insects into a collection tube (and I thought he was talking about a computer…) – he scours the hedge and wood line of all accessible fields and moorland; this wonderful weather has been perfect for insects, especially hoverflies.
We decide on Scadsbury, an hourglass culm grassland field bordered by ancient woodland leading down to the River Lew. Primroses dotted among the soft pink-mauves and deep purple-blues of violets spill out of the woodland into the scalloped edges of the field; nature’s own subtle embroidery. Dancing a jig at the very tops of pussy willow trees, males of the beautiful moth Adela cuprella seek to attract mates. This small moth, with its metallic bronze and copper wings, and flowing white antennae many times the body length, has never before been recorded in Devon but it’s common this year. The book says it comes and goes, some years being very seldom seen if at all, and others in some numbers.
the first bluebell flowers in Scadsbury Woods
Down by the river clumps of pungent wild garlic are linked through a green carpet of bluebells teetering on the edge of flowering.
after much newness and excitement...
Robert finds his hoverflies while the dogs and I introduce Willow to woodlands, boggy grassland and rivers. She’s entranced while we (yes, even Skye and Ness, though they have tried their best to ignore her) are enchanted by her!
...Willow falls sound asleep!
“It was freezing. Really, really freezing.” Olly had just got back from Bude yesterday evening. He body-surfs and taking advantage of the clocks changing and the glorious warm day he’d nipped down to Bude for an early evening surf.
“Did you have your winter wetsuit on?” I asked
“Oh yes. The lot. Hood, gloves, socks. I wear the winter one all year now. Because I’m in the water constantly for maybe an hour or more I get really cold, not like board-surfers.” He hung over the Aga “But it was freezing. Lots of people out there though.” He draped himself across the whole Aga top “And by the way, what’s with all the speed and CCTV cameras down our lane? Not too sure about that!” Our farm lane is half a mile long, lumpy, bumpy, windy and not known for speeding along.
CCTV or speed camera? They have appeared every 10m along our lane.
“Ah-ha, yes. New experiment!” Robert had just walked into the kitchen loaded down with seed trays “New design, rural ones! But they won’t show at all in a couple of weeks. Catch you unawares if you go over 5mph!”
“What are they?”
they are dormouse nest tubes!
“Dormouse nest tubes. I’m carrying out an experiment.” He replied, dumping the seed trays on the kitchen table “To see whether dormice will use the tubes even when there’s lots of really good natural nesting habitat in the hedges. I suspect that they won’t, but need to check this.” He turned to Olly “Hot tea?”
“But” I interrupt “Isn’t that taking their skills away? I mean the hedges you’ve put them in are the ones where you found lots of dormice nests aren’t they?”
“Yes, you’re right, they are. But actually it’s been shown that dormice babies born in captivity have the ability to make nests. It’s an instinct, not learnt behaviour.”
I pour boiling water into the tea pot “So you’re not enticing them into state-of-the-art des.res at any detriment to their beautifully constructed natural nests?”
“No, I really don’t think so. Many surveys to find out whether there are dormice around, particularly for new developments, use the tubes. But it could be that if the habitat’s really good they just won’t use them – it’s safer to build their own nests. Only if the cover is poor will they resort to using artificial tree holes – which is what the nest tubes are.”
I suddenly have a vision of giant alien beings carrying out experiments on some weirdly strange little human-creatures they’ve noticed. State of the art mansions are placed in tempting locations. What would we do?
Assemblyof dormice nest tubes taking place in the warm and ambient atmosphere of the biome!
a multi nippled creature
all-seeing eye?
ice barnicles
alien invasion
No, frog spawn. Visit the Tate Modern in your nearest ditch or pond.
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