A Kestrel hovered persistently in the steady breeze, starting above treetop height and dropping lower in little steps, over the rough grass full of thistles, burdock, and teasels
Comfrey, once used as a medicinal herb to knit bones, still in flower in October. A solitary Chiffchaff sang its simple song nearby.
Germander Speedwell, a miniature beauty in bloom
Creeping Cinquefoil, an attractively bright flower in clusters among the well-trodden grass of the path
The extraordinary pink of the fruit of the Spindle Tree, a small slender tree with long and extremely straight twigs, that were ideal for medieval spinsters to use as spindles when spinning thread
Scentless Mayweed, a cheerful flower of waste ground, common in the pony field. A twittering flock of Linnets flew into a bramble patch in the field, perching atop the bush and making little flights, apparently catching insects, before returning to their perches.
Volunteers (not me this time) cutting and burning scrub that was invading the Chalk Grassland at Aston Rowant. They made a lovely snipping and clipping noise, very gentle, with a background crackle of burning, as the smell of woodsmoke floated across the reserve.
Ravens, several in aerobatic pairs, wheeled overhead, as did a Buzzard and quite a few Red Kites.
The Witches Broom Hornbeam tree – the brooms are not Mistletoe but shock growths of the tree itself, caused by a bacterium, fungus, or virusBryony Fruits and handsomely spiralling stems of this climbing plantChalk Grassland is perfect for a picnic – smooth and dry to sit on, and there’s usually a lovely view. Ideally comfortable – unless you sit on a low-growing Sit-Upon Thistle!
A Bullfinch wheezed its odd “Deu” call from a hawthorn bush as we had our picnic.
The local Sheep have made a comfortable hollow to keep out of the wind while they’re lying down to digest a bellyful of grass (and why shouldn’t they, it must be tough). The result is a neat geological section through the thin soil, called a Rendzina, down to the solid white Chalk only a few inches beneath the turf. The topmost layer of soil is relatively rich in humus (organic matter); then it turns into a mixture of eroded chalk bits and poorer soil; and then it’s Chalk. The soil successively deepens as it goes down the valley, becoming a richer Brown Earth at the bottom; the chain of soils from thinnest, driest Rendzina at the top to thickest, moistest Brown Earth at the bottom is called a Catena (Latin for chain).Sulphur Tuft in attractive “troops” all over and around a mossy tree-trunk, which it is helping to decomposeThe “Egg” of the Stinkhorn fungus, which rejoices under the name Phallus impudicus (“The Rude Phallus”) – the gelatinous “Egg” turns into a long roughly cylindrical, er, stalk, with a brown, wrinkled, stinking, bell-shaped, er, top which crumbles into masses of spores; flies, attracted by the stink, come and disperse the spores. As they say, there are lots of ways to make a living …
Stag Roaring. The Hinds seem unimpressed.Young Parasol Mushrooms. The caps open out to the size of a dinner plate.Acorn, plump and beautiful. The Squirrels were having a feast in the woods, popping in and out of the shade of the Oak trees.
Walking down from the woods across the wide rough area with rushes, two Skylarks got up, twittering, and perched briefly on the Bracken: a very special sight for London.
Down past the Pen Ponds at the side of a wood, a Green Woodpecker flew handsomely up into a tree, swiftly hiding itself round the back of the trunk.
A quiet sunny day in October – probably no migrants or winter ducks – perhaps it’ll just be a peaceful walk in the fresh air. Not a bad thing.
One of several Migrant Hawkers … the only one that obligingly perched for the camera
Among the brambles, a dragonfly flashed past; then another, patrolling up and down, inspecting a third one perched stock-still. They were small Hawkers, slim and with a lot of blue, and yes, they were definitely Migrant Hawkers, small Aeshnids that fly pretty late in the year. The patroller saw off a couple of bees or wasps: that’s quite aggressive, given that those insects can deliver a sting fatal to other insects.
Something hopping about in a Willow down by the water caught my eye, so I raised my binoculars, and was at once rewarded by an excellent view of a Chiffchaff, which helpfully called “Hweet” repeatedly to identify itself from the similar-looking Willow Warbler (not specially found in Willows), which says “Hoo-eeet” a bit more disyllabically. I had time to admire its bold eye-stripe before it disappeared into the foliage.
A few minutes further, a REALLY LOUD high-pitched chattering, — such a big sound that it hurt my ears. On a branch above the lake was silhouetted a small bird with a long heavy beak – it had to be a Kingfisher. At that moment, another Kingfisher flew up, hovered for a moment, chattering, and both birds raced off. Well!
Something heavy splashed into the water, leaving ripples. I peered through the branches. A Cormorant took off with noise and effort; another; and three more. A Little Egret joined them, white with short rounded wings and long conspicuous primary flight feathers spread out individually like fingers.
Hawthorn heavy with berries
The path past the fishing lake was flooded after the recent storm, from its bone-dry state all summer.
The Hawthorns were glowing a rich red, heavy with berries. Soon the winter thrushes, Redwings and Fieldfares, will arrive and feast on them.
Rabbit Latrine
I looked down. In the middle of the track, an enormous latrine — for Rabbits. Hundreds of little round pellets of differing ages, some fresh, many dry and crumbly (I didn’t try to rub them) formed a miniature cobbled pavement. Did you know that Rabbits always used the same toilet? Now you do. Perhaps it help to avoid giving information to predators like the Red Fox about where the Rabbits are today, so the extra effort of, er, going to the toilet pays for itself in increased safety.
In the horse field, this year’s foals were still staying close by their mothers, who went on grazing unconcernedly; a foal eyed me nervously as I went by.
At the Solar Farm, a small tractor whirred up and down, cutting the grass. Seems a shame that they can’t follow the excellent lead of Thames Water, who use a flock of Sheep to keep the grass short around their reservoirs the other side of the railway line. Still, it’s clean green energy, for the most part.
Just a quiet autumn walk on a sunny day. Nothing remarkable to report.
The English seem unemotional … except for their passion for nature
