A river wanders through the parkland at the National Trust’s Attingham Park, sometimes in viscous flood, sometimes in slow motion. Today it was slow and cold.
Category: wildlife
Categories
Gigrin Memories
What a strange experience you get when you visit Gigrin Farm, a Red Kite feeding station in the Welsh Hills. Hundreds of them swirling overhead, hundreds of Kite, a bird which a sighting of a single specimen would set the heart pumping anywhere else. We get occasional glimpses of one passing over our heads when gardening and we regularly see an odd one or two as we drive around Shropshire. There are now signs that they are breeding in our county, but until recently we had to travel into the hills of mid-Wales to enjoy them.
When our children were young, a few decades ago now, we would drive for a few hours into the hill country of Mid-Wales, along a pretty inaccessible road into a valley where we knew we could find the Red Kite. Half a dozen were beginning to get established there and we revelled in watching them soaring in the thermals on the steep hillsides and feeding on the slopes. They came back from the brink, a handful of individuals, to a healthy and spreading population in the hundreds.
Visit the feeding station at Gilgrin, where the farmer feeds beef from the back of his tractor, and you will be able to watch them feed right in front of the hides. they are fed at the same time each day and know when that is. Travelling for miles to get here they stack up in the thermals on warm days or sit in trees and hedges and even on the ground in anticipation.
There is a definite hierarchy with the oldest birds coming in first as the others wait their turn in the pecking order. The youngest and most inexperienced wait patiently for three quarters of an hour or so for their food.
Buzzards come too, but they seem wiser. As the kite expend energy diving and swooping for a morsel of meat, never landing to grasp it in their talons, the Buzzards settle themselves on the grass amongst the meat and feed effortlessly, taking no notice whatsoever of the melee of feeding Kite around them. The odd Raven, Magpie, Crow and Jackdaw also grab an opportunistic lunch.
In flight above the feeding ground the colous of the Kites’ plumage becomes apparent, rich russets, browns, fawns and black. We were treated to a sight of an all-white individual.
With such close views we appreciated the graceful nature of their flight, we watch as wings and tails curled and constantly re-shaped themselves to aid manoevrability. They appeared to have fingers to give the finesse needed when flying in such large groups.
Today dawned bright, Robins sang and the blue colour of the sky coupled with a forecast of a dry day ahead, tempted us out for a countryside walk. A short 10 minute drive along winding lanes saw us park up at the start of the walk. This car park must have one of the best views in Shropshire, a view presenting a huge panorama. Snow on the hills and iced water in the furrows of the ploughed fields below reminded us that whatever the day looked like it is still winter.
Beneath our feet the muddy track was frozen solid a few millimetres down and this made for a tense start. We walked slowly along the ridge tempted repeatedly to glance leftward at the hazy view. Thin clouds were building. The hedge to our right was mostly of Hawthorn and Holly over which Brambles clambered. Blackbirds aplenty sought out the last of the hedge’s berries, and a pair of silhouetted Carrion Crow gorged on Ivy berries as black as themselves. They went about their business in silence. Crows are rarely silent.
We enjoyed the view of Yellow Hammers, birds that are sadly declining so rapidly from our hedgerows. A trio flitted amongst the uppermost branches of the taller Hawthorns calling continuously. It was good to see them. Small noisy flocks of Linnets frequently passed over our heads. We were relieved to leave our frozen footway and enter a tiny coppiced area alive with the calls of Great Tits, Bluetits and Longtailed Tits. We attempted the sloping footpath down through the copse and slid our way down a few yards before giving up and were forced to carry on along a rough roadway alongside a few houses. The conifers in their gardens added Coal Tit to the titmice collection and Jays squawked in their topmost branches.
Our cold noses were subjected to the unpleasant odour of male fox which had crossed our path an hour or two before probably as dawn light was announcing the day. The odour hung in our nostrils for several minutes as we walked on.
We were glad that this hard man-made surface lasted such a short while because we were to enter a beautiful coppice of old oaks, dotted with occasional Rowan and Beech. Their under-storey was of Holly and Bramble and here Dunnock, Robin and Wren skulked, given away by their calls. Lichen and algae coloured the trunks of the old once-managed oaks. These would have been cut to the ground every few years to encourage rapid upright growth which could be harvested. But we are enjoying the habitat created after years of neglect, a habitat equally appreciated by wildlife. The oaks are gnarled and eccentrically shaped, covered in lichen, algae and mosses.
Sounds are carried freely through the coppice. The tapping of a Great spotted Woodpecker. The liquid whistlings of Nuthatches. The “chatting” of Wren. And an unidentified “churring” sound – we had no idea what bird might have made that call. Woodpeckers and nuthatches had been busy digging in the softness of rotting wood on dead trees. This chip of bark had been lifted by a Woodpecker’s powerful beak to extract a morsel of food, some beetle or grub which the bird had heard beneath the bark.
New leaves sprouted on the honeysuckles that entwined the lower trunk of the Oaks where there must be a little protection, a little extra warmth.
Little clumps or bunches of Ladybirds have managed to find refuges from the ravages of winter. By looking carefully shining wing cases of orange and red, spotted black could be spied. They looked so precarious but they must have some confidence in the security of their hideouts.
There was so much variety in the colour and texture of the tree trunks. Lichens and mosses clung to the roughness and painted over the brown bark. Silvery blues. Hot flame colours. Gentle greens.
We followed the circular route through the coppice and made our way back down the track, the light weakening and the temperature cooling. We shall return in spring when the summer migrants are back, when the coppice should reverberate to the song of warblers and Swallows accompany us along the ridge.
The Wildfowl and Wetland Trust, in one of their booklets describe Martin Mere as offering “spectacular displays of feather and flight.” This is but one aspect of this special place, the large-scale side of it, but it possesses alongside the spectacular displays, simpler, smaller but equally special experiences for anyone interested in the natural world.
We had a long trek northwards in motorway commuter traffic to get there, but sitting in our slow-moving car with thousands of others creeping in four lanes over the Runcorn Bridge, we were content with the thought that we had a day of peace and wildlife to look forward to. Not a boring day in the office like most of those around us had to look forward to.
The flat land through which the road finally winds toward the end of our journey, was sodden with the recent heavy rain, the road covered in slime. The fields were full of leeks, cabbages and root crops, grown in the richness of the silted land. Turning into the site and we were in a different world away from the commuters, the farmers and away from reality. The noise that greeted us was the melee of calling geese and swans in their thousands all talking at once. The mere was full, hardly any water surface left to see. It was solid with ducks, geese and swan. A confusing site – where to look? Our eyes had to become acclimatised to the sheer numbers of wildfowl, the sea of confusion.
The majority of the swans were Whooper Swans with Mute and Berwick present in much smaller numbers. The Whoopers’ yellow beaks appear over-sized and over-bright, exaggerating the pure whiteness of their plumage. Their’s is the sort of white that washing powder manufacturers strive for. Pink Foot and Grey Lag Geese make up the majority of the geese and Shelduck and Pintails seemed to be the ducks of preference. Hundreds of Black Headed gulls in various stages of moult filled the gaps in between.
Looking carefully amongst these large and noisy birds we were able to spots waders, hundreds of Lapwing with smaller numbers of Grey Plovers and Golden Plovers. Larger Black Tailed Godwits and the much smaller Redshanks fed busily probing the mud with their long bills.
A short amble from the Mere is the diminutive Janet Kear Hide, which overlooks an intimate pool surrounded by small leafless trees, mostly willow and hawthorn. Here feeding stations have been set up to give close up views of the reserve’s smaller birds. Greenfinch, Goldfinch and Chaffinch dominate, feeding busily on the mixed seeds, with Great Tit and Blue Tit attracted to the peanuts in the hanging feeders. A real treat was the number of Reed Bunting using the feeding station. At Slimbridge we were excited to spot one, here there were dozens.
The finch family and tit family were also represented by rarer members, a Willow Tit and a Brambling. These were birds which a decade or so ago were frequent visitors to our garden in winter, but are now so seldom seen. A single Tree Sparrow was the only representative of the sparrows, as we did not see any House Sparrows that day.
The feeding stations here were so busy most of the time but were silenced three times, once by a group of fleeing Feral Pigeons charging through the trees pursued by a Peregrine and twice when a male Sparrow Hawk came ahunting. He reduced the Chaffinch population by one on his first visit.
Moving on to the United Utilities Hide and the Harrier Hide we passed through avenues of trees dotted with nest boxes and the ground below dotted with log piles and brash heaps, both great insect habitats. They are also useful hunting places for Wren and Dunnock.
The wind was blowing strongly, carrying cold air across the flatness of the land around this end of the site. When we opened the viewing windows our noses ran and our eyes shed cold tears. Shelduck were here in large numbers on the fingers of mud, spending their lunchtime preening.
During the afternoon we wandered across to the other side of the reserve making our way to the Ron Barker Hide. We followed paths alongside a stream, the pathways overhung by bare trees of winter. Beneath them on the verges mosses took advantage of the extra damp atmosphere and colonised any rotting stump or fallen trunk. We were surprised to see so much fungi in evidence. Each stump a garden made by nature.
We arrived at the Ron Barker hide – it was busy. Rows of birdwatchers peering through telescopes, or scopes as they would call them, the front lenses poking out into the thin cold January air. “Third bush past the gate!” “Follow the shining fence down from the red tractor!” Instructions to each other, aids to spotting a rarity.
There was so much noise across the water, reeds and farmland beyond, bird noise carried by the wind to our cold ears. We joined in the spotting and scanning and were rewarded with the sight of a Snow Goose gently landing on rough grass beyond the nearest watery expanse. Alongside the Grey Lags and Pink Foots these smooth white geese appear delicate. They appear whiter than the multitude of swans bustling around them.
A Marsh Harrier was hunting on the edge of the farmland, flying low over the tall grasses and occasionally dropping down appearing minutes later with no sign of prey. As he followed a fence line he spooked a Hen Harrier, much smaller and slender. They hunted almost together for a while but occasionally the larger Marsh Harrier dived at the Hen Harrier putting it down. We watched this spectacle for an enjoyable ten minutes before they moved in front of the dropping sun, which hid them from our prying eyes.
We just had time left for another perusal of the Mere before the light defeated us. The swans now looked ghostly in the pink-tinted water. they were joined by more and more geese flying in to roost. The day finished with a real show. A Short Eared Owl was quartering the marshland abutting the mere, hunting voles with a periodic hover, his colours made richer in the late afternoon light. It is sightings like these that make the reserves of the Wildfowl and Wetland Trust so special.
Our recent visit to Barnes, the WWT centre in London, reminded us that we hadn’t visited Slimbridge for a good few years. Bitterns were being spotted regularly so a relatively mild day in January seemed a good day to visit. A long and very slow drive down in the drizzle failed to dampen our enthusiasm. So having arrived an hour after we had planned a welcome cup of coffee was gulped down before we headed for the hides. Trouble is we had to begin by walking passed the flamingo enclosure – an assault on the eyes and ears. Not our favourite birds – the Dame Edna Everidges of the wildfowl world.
The walk to the first hide took us through wildfowl enclosures. We don’t stop here much but it was a favourite when our children were young, and is still a favourite for young families today. it is a great way to introduce youngsters to the joys of the bird world. It is safe to say that many children who marvel at the beautiful fowl from every corner of the world become birdwatchers – their interest is sparked here at Slimbridge.
In this area pollarded willows with wands the colours of fire glow against the storm-laden sky. Some newly pollarded trees look like they are sporting designer stubble, others throw their stems rigidly into the air.
We arrived at the first hide after a twenty-minute walk through the wildfowl pens regularly distracted by the low winter sun and its magical effect on stems and stalks. The view from the hide was one of flat landscape of reedbed, river and shallow pools. Shelduck were relaxing on the grassy bank of a patch of cold looking water while mallard and teal flirted in the edge of the reed fringed pools. This was a quiet place with just the wind rustling the reeds, the whistling calls of the teal disrupted by the quarreling mallard. A small bird flitted from one reed seed head to another never settling, a brown backed warbler with rounded end to its tail – a cettis warbler. This is a sight worth the long journey to see. But Jude quietly whispered to me “I can see a bittern”. There it was, so hard to find and so easy to lose, skulking in the fringes of the reeds a few metres from the hide. Stripes of brown on warm beige, provided the perfect camouflage, the bittern moved so slowly like a clump of dried reeds. Jude saw it with head and neck stretched up – lucky lady!
We remained in this hide long enough to get cold and stiff after perching on the hard wooden seating, revived somewhat by regular coffees. Eyes soon become tired staring over such huge areas of wetland, so blinking and rubbing them was a necessity. But our tired eyes did see many delights, Pintails, Shovellers, Water Rail among multitudes of Pochard, Wigeon, mute swan mixed with Bewicks and the occasional heron flying in and landing on fenceposts. The only birds of prey we spotted were several buzzards all lined up on fence post on the edge of the river. Our eyes needed a rest and luckily the nearby Kingfisher Hide provides just this as the views are smaller, the birds more intimate. Here bird feeders hang in a tree just outside one of the hide’s windows. A half hour of close-up views of finches and tits while eating lunch is an enjoyable interlude.
As Jude read an information board about kingfishers she informed me that they moved elsewhere during the winter but returned in March, but as she told me this one flew across the water low and purposefully. You can’t mis-identify a kingfisher, there is nothing else like it. Then it flew back across the water to prove he really was there. Beneath the feeders opportunist pigeons, blackbirds, moorhen and jackdaws joined by a squirrel picked up the seeds and peanut crumbs dropped by the messy small birds above. We enjoyed watching the antics of a Little Grebe as he swam around just feet from the hide, a delightful ball of feathers.
Picnic eaten and eyes rested we continued our tour of the site visiting smaller hides and enjoying the walkways in between. We passed the Rain Garden with the most wonderful, sculptural insect shelters.
Many of the birds have become so used to human visitors that they let you take photos without huge telescopic lenses, just compact digital cameras like the one I carry in my pocket.
It was between some of the smaller hides that we spotted the first good-sized clump of snowdrops of the winter so far bursting from the leaves that had dropped in the autumn to give the ground a warming duvet. Nearby gnarled old bracket fungi clung to equally gnarled old willow bark.
We reached the Holden tower as the poor light was fading further. The multitude of waders, geese and ducks were almost in silhouette now. A flock of Tufted Ducks had taken over one small pond exclusively, but the other pool was busy with Lapwing by the hundred interspersed by a scattering of their cousins the Golden Plover. Out on the far estuary Pintails could be seen feeding in the margins and Curley in the muddy banks. A real treat was spotting a female Reed bunting close to the hide atop a twiggy bush. She was a bird of subtle beauty. Completely unlike the black hooded male, she sported black and cream streaks all over.
The fading light that makes the afternoons in January too short, made us hurry to the South Lakes for a final half-hour bird spotting. Gulls, waders and ducks galore greeted us, unaware that they were being watched by a Buzzard in one tree and a Peregrine in its neighbour. We were entertained by a group of Black Tailed Godwit feeding in the shallows close to us and Lapwing moving across the shallower water feeding incessantly. Scanning the Lapwing flock with the telescope, I spied a small gang of Redshank, easily identified by their red legs. But amongst them was a different character, a slightly longer and down-turned beak and marked eye stripe and more marked plumage identified it as a Spotted Redshank. What an end to the day! Our time watching and appreciating the waders on the South Lake was forshortened when the Peregrine launched itself from its tree top perch. The waders disappeared.
But it is not just the rarities that it is possible to see at Slimbridge, and we certainly revelled in seeing our Water Rail, Spotted Redshank, Bittern and Cettis Warbler, that makes this such a wonderful place to visit but is the enjoyment of seeing the commonest of birds in such a varied range of habitats. Journeying home we looked back on a day when we spotted over 50 species of birds some of them in their hundreds and satisfied with a short glimpse of the ubiquitous Bittern.
Categories
Conservation and Culling
This is another controversial look at a conservation issue. I began writing this blog way back in October and then spent much time thinking about exactly what to write and ensuring due consideration was given to both sides of the argument. Then the issue was brought up on Autumnwatch where in particular the culling of Red Deer in Scotland was looked at. So I have waited until now to publish it.
Has the time come when we must consider seriously the need for the controlled culling of certain species in order to maintain a balance in our natural world? We have upset the balance through our actions for centuries by removing links in food chains and food pyramids especially predators such as wolves. Gamekeepers have removed certain raptors from huge areas of our islands and massively reduced the population of others. This amazingly continues today!
The consideration of this controversial issue is currently difficult as people’s vision is being blurred by the contentious ambitions of our government to cull badgers all for the wrong reasons – pressure from the farming industry. The unproven condemnation of badgers as being the main cause of the spread of bovine tuberculosis is being used as the reason for a cull. but this is altogether different – it is being proposed for purely economic reasons.
The aim of the culling I am talking about here would be to bring some control to over-sized populations caused by an imbalance of nature caused by man, often the species needing to be culled being foreign invaders. The most obvious creatures that need to be under scrutiny when considering culling are the Grey Squirrel, the Wood Pigeon, the Rabbit, Signal Crayfish, mink and some species of deer. It is clear to see that there are far too many of each of these and where mink and Signal Crayfish are concerned even one is too many as they cause severe disruption to our native creatures, the Bank Vole and our native Crayfish respectively. Whether the Grey Squirrel is a direct threat to our native reds is less clear-cut as they tend to favour different habitats.
Perhaps one answer is to consider these as a food source. Should we return to a time when pigeon and rabbit were part of our everyday diets, and begin to think of harvesting the Grey Squirrel and Signal Crays as a new food source? To some extent we accept this with deer for example Attingham Park, a National Trust property near us just outside Shrewsbury, culls its deer to keep a healthy herd and sells the venison.
So what is the way forward? Could we accept culling if it also had the by-product of providing a food source?
The Grey Squirrel is cute and entertaining as are rabbits, so a cull of either would be hard for some to swallow. But they are not native to our shores and they can both become tasty ingredients.
The opposite side of the coin could be the re-introduction of missing species, and this could be even more controversial. Could we realistically reintroduce wolves? The reintroduction of beavers in Scotland does not seem to assist in redressing any imbalance.
More questions than answers!! I certainly have no answers. I couldn’t kill any living creature, with the exception perhaps of the slugs that devour our plants.
Categories
A Cold Riverside Walk
A walk along the River Severn in Ironbridge, just a dozen or so miles from home, proved a lovely way to enjoy a frosty Sunday morn. the gorge here is so deep that the sun’s rays barely manage to peep over the top meaning unusual lighting and taking photos shooting into the sun. I only had my smart phone camera to hand so the glares across pictures were a revelation.
Very little wildlife shared the gorge with us, mallards and mute swans on the water and a buzzard hunting along the opposite bank floating slowly and gracefully through the tree tops . But we had been treated to a wonderful view of a bright rustic-coloured fox slowly crossing the road just in front of the car. This was no urban fox – the fox shown obsessively on TV programmes – all scraggy, bones showing and dull coloured – no, this was the real thing.
The frost was just showing signs of melting away forming sparkling droplets of water on the bankside vegetation.
We went down to London for the day, not to see a show or visit a museum or shop in Harrods, but to go birdwatching. Not something I could have said a few years ago, but luckily for us and the residents of the capital city the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust have created a haven for wildlife right in the heart of the city. We hate cities and definitely hate driving in them, so we hoped our visit would be worthwhile. We were accompanied by our daughter Jo and son-in-law Rob who had recommended the place to us, so the pressure was on them! They are good navigators in cities which was most useful. Last year they visited and were amazed at 5 Bittern sightings.
The day dawned cold and wet with a bitter wind so we wrapped up in thermals and layer upon layer of clothing suitable for Polar Bear spotting. First impressions were favourable – the centre was attractively built, we were “meeted and greeted” by a friendly WWT person who told us where to go starting with the cafe. it turned out to be a good cafe which served tasty lattes and even tastier bacon butties. We reluctantly left the cafe’s warmth and shelter expecting to have to tackle the weather to reach the first hide. Wrong! It was in the same building as the cafe and a most comfy place to view the large expanse of water.
Watching the numerous species of duck against an urban background seemed somewhat incongruous. And watching a Peregrine spook the ducks in a diagonal stoop over the cold grey water added to this feeling. We saw over 40 species of bird including Snipe, both Common and Jack, wildfowl such as pochard, teal and shoveller, but fewer small birds but we were treated to a close up view of a Stonechat, that dapper little alert chap dressed in russet and wearing a black cap. The Jack Snipe, Pintail and Water Rail were probably the star spots of the day. It has been 30 odd years since we last saw this diminutive Jack Snipe, the little wader with the long beak that is surprisingly shorter and less ridiculous than the one sported by its larger cousin the Common Snipe. We had a fine view allowing us to appreciate its wonderful striped head and russet wing markings.
Walking between the hides we were impressed by the wildlife gardens planted along the walkways. The dried stems of perennials and the stark outlines of dogwoods, willows and birches gave a taster of how attractive they must be in warmer months. There were examples of methods of attracting wildlife such as this magnificent “insect tower block”.
Coloured stemmed willows feature strongly as pollarded trees, hedges, structures such as arches and living fences. These yellow stemmed pollarded and coppiced specimens lit up the dull grey day.
Barnes certainly lived up to expectation even though the visitors’ favourite failed to put in an appearance, the weather being too inclement for the Bitterns, a bird that dislikes the wind. But it gives a reason to return. We plan to visit next in the summer when it will be interesting to see what summer migrants are in evidence in this wildlife oasis in the city. I know how corny the phrase “wildlife oasis” is, but how else can you describe this little gem.
On my early morning wander down to feed the chucks today I was accompanied by the usual Robin who followed me, flying from post to post down the fence line stopping off to treat me to a burst of his gentle transparent winter song. He does this every day except when the rain is torrential when he never shows. If I take the grass path past the slate bed, the Secret Garden and the Chicken bed he takes the fence route, but if I take the concrete central path he flies along the cordon pears and plums stopping to sing on each tree. Today was different for I had the added benefit of the first song this winter from the Song Thrush. The first signs of true territorial song mapping out his patch and letting others know. Sadly recently he just sings for us for there seem few rival males to want his territory. Here in Plealey we seem to have far more Mistle Thrushes than Song Thrushes.
As usual I wandered around the garden to see what was happening and today felt warmer so a slow aimless wander was on the cards. I was impressed by the Prunus subhirtella autumnalis, the centre piece of our little Japanese Garden, which is littered with its delicate white blooms. And at last new spears of bulb leaves have made their way to the surface to show us their intent. But a plant that struck me as an unusual “winter interest” plant was the Agapanthus.
Agapanthus, a striking summer flowering plant, is growing in our “Chatto Garden”, a gravel bed we made after visiting Beth Chatto’s wonderful garden and being struck by her gravel garden created on her old car park. When there we bought a few agapanthus and on our gravel bed we grew a deep dark blue flowering variety. I wrote two earlier blogs about the amazing buds and how they open. ( see “Bud Burst” published in July 2011 and “Bud Burst Part 2” published in August 2011.)
Now in December it is still giving interest on our “Chatto Garden”, but not blue this time but the absolute opposite – a rich yellow. The foliage and stems are yellow and the seed heads are like delicate sculptures.
Until now I had not considered the Agapanthus to be a plant for winter interest. They always say that a good gardener is one who never stops learning!
Earlier this week we spent a few days down in Gloucestershire at my Mother’s home. She has a small town house with a small town garden, about 30ft by 20ft in the back and a token patch in the front. The house is the last in a row on the edge of a small town and the garden boundary is a tall rich hedge of mixed native plants with fields beyond. For centuries this hedge has fed and sheltered wildlife in its hawthorns, ivies, wild roses and the sprawling shawl of brambles. It is home to a rogue buddleja germinated from a seed dropped by a bird and now attracting butterflies, bees and hoverflies to its scented purple flowers each summer.
The ivy has spread from the hedge and along the garage wall which forms one side of a little secret garden, a shaded place for tea and cake. This ivy is now full of black berries, food for blackbirds who earlier in the year used its shelter in which to build their nest. It is a warm place for wrens to roost.
A look out from the front window into the garden shows the skeleton of silver branches of the Cercis Forest Pansy now having lost the last of its red and plum coloured leaves of autumn and a recently neatly pruned climbing rose on the porch wall. A glance at the back shows it to be dominated by a fine specimen of Arbutus unedo, the strawberry tree. There are small dots of colour from remnant flowering of earlier seasons still to be seen, but go out with camera in hand and there is so much more interest. Here the lens sees more than the eye and conjures up a garden full of textures and colours. Old terra-cotta pots spiral beneath the trunk of a malus arranged to add interest when the crab apples have been eaten by blackbirds and migrant thrushes and the yellow, orange and red of October leaves have journeyed to the ground only to be blown away by strong November winds.
Just as the clay pots were given new life, so the trunk of the conifer, outgrown its space and lopped, has been reborn as the post for a bird table. It is now visited by the birds who ignored its barren foliage when it lived.
Foliage plays a central role in small gardens in winter, both for colour and texture. Some like the Senecio, now sadly re-christened brachyglotis by the botanists, has both with its leaves surfaced in silver-grey fur.
And in sharp contrast to the delicate senecio, the bristly character of the berberis, purple in summer now turns to the red and orange tones of fire. In the shadow of the house wall a small nettle leaved plant clambers over the ground with its matt dry textured foliage shaded with silver, plum and purple. no artist could have designed these leaves.
Close by the variegated periwinkle, Vinca major, defies the season and manages two pure blue blooms.
Promises of scent and colour from late winter and early spring flowers are evidence of rapidly changing seasons, the few lonely pink-blushed blooms of Viburnum bodnantense “Dawn” remind us of the profusion there is in waiting, while the soft-furred pointed buds of magnolia hide all its promises of scent and waxy petalled blooms. Sarcococca is an amazing name for a shrub. In the summer it is quite a dull little waxy leaved evergreen but below its branches are hung with tiny buds that will open into little white gems absolutely loaded with a heavy honey scent at the most unlikely time, January and February. Such a treat, and this one is planted alongside the garden path, just where it can treat anyone passing by.
Whereas the buds of the viburnum and the magnolia are promises of future joy, other buds are remnants of the joys of summer. White buds of the annual pelargonium and the palest pink of the hardy geranium are hanging on into the cold weather. True wishful thinkers!
We access the front garden by passing under a rose arch, over which rambles a Canary Rose one of the earliest roses to come into bloom every year. Now its yellowness comes from its leaves glowing in the winter sun. Its foliage causes confusion as several visitors have thought it to be a rowan.
Beneath the arch the yellow of the Canary Rose is precisely reflected in the deep yellow of the richly variegated euonymus.
In the front the white, silver and cream variegated euphorbia is far more noticeable than at any other time of year even though it never changes.
Tubs at the front have been planted to give bursts of colour mostly from cyclamen. Why can I accept such bright colours and clashes in the winter when I would find them undesirable the rest of the year?
In the short stretch of low dry stone wall, between two levels of garden, I spied this snail-shell, providing just a hint at the many hibernating molluscs hidden in its warmth.
greenbenchramblings 