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 …
The English seem unemotional … except for their passion for nature
