Bugs and butterflies

It's a great time of year for butterflies. Noticed this Small Tortoiseshell and hundreds of his kind flitting among a sea of Creeping Thistle as I walked the dog the other day.

There were butterflies all along our route, drifting across swathes of wheat or lifting startled from our footsteps among the meadows.

And in among the nettles were swaying clusters of caterpillars, which will eventually transform themselves into the mighty Peacock butterfly. Always worth leaving some nettles in your garden, they are a boon to moths, butterflies and more.

Having filled up the paddling pool for the children, I noticed how many bugs and creepy crawlies soon find themselves trapped on the silvery surface. No wonder fish have so much natural food at this time of year. If a three foot paddling pool can trap literally hundreds of insects in 24 hours, imagine the tonnage of fish food collected by a good size stretch of river or stillwater?

Foxglove Fanatic

I have something of a fixation with foxgloves at the minute.

What extraordinary plants these are, and although widespread across the planet, seem quintessentially English to me.

Propogated entirely by the wonderful bumble bee, these glorious flowers have a shelf life of just six days between opening and falling from the corolla.

It is interesting to note that while many bees and insects are attracted to the striking plant, none of them rest on it, perhaps because they recognise its poisonous character.

Well known and used for centuries to treat a variety of ailments, the plant produces the important heart drug Digitalis, highly poisonous but effective in tiny doses. Increased doses apparently cause a variety of cerebral symptoms, including seeing everything coloured blue!

A side effect of its use is loss of appetite and some desperate souls have been known to use it as an aid to weight loss.

Well, it doesn't make me blue or hungry, but it does give me enormous pleasure in the garden as the bees clamber in and out of the throats of its magnificent flowers. I have spent many hours in Devon and Cornwall marvelling at the strain of pink foxgloves that carpet the verges and embankments of those sun splashed counties.

Good Boy!

The picture says it all. The old boy is coming on a treat.

After a recent foray on pigeons hammering the spring rape, I returned home to fetch Diesel to see if he would be keen to help me pick up. And boy, was he.

I left a few obvious birds out for him to find, and he even discovered a pigeon I'd forgotten about deep in some tall rape stems. He shows no concern about picking up these loose-feathered birds, which apparently some dogs do.

I have not exposed him to a shooting situation yet, or even the sound of a shotgun, but he is already working fine with the noise of a starting pistol and I'm delighted with his progress. I hope and believe he is going to make a great shooting companion and I can't wait for that moment when I shoot a bird over him and he retrieves it for the first time. Life affirming stuff.

Kentish coastline

I've mentioned before my penchant for the seaside, and this last week I've been able to indulge it to the full.

A week in Whitstable is to be appreciated at any time of the year, but when the sun shines, the wine flows and the asparagus grows - what more could you ask for?

I really resent not having plentiful and varied fresh seafood readily available where I live. The last few days have been heaven. Oysters each day, a luncheon of tiny slip sole, barely cooked in seafood butter, stiff-fresh mackerel fillets and bundles and bundles of beautiful crunchy asparagus.

No wonder they call Kent the garden of England. Everywhere you go there are hop plantations, fruiterers, pick your own strawberries, raspberries and vegetables of every size. And did I mention the asparagus?

Although some of the seaside towns can be a bit rough around the edges, there are some truly lovely parts of Kent that I had not experienced before.

And one night, as whorls of my cigar smoke eddied in the breeze and I sipped a fruit-laden red wine, I had time to notice things around me again; I find it often it takes a few days of solace to open my eyes to the real things in life once more.

As dusk fell, I watched as the daisies on the lawn of our cottage began their evening ritual, closing their petals up for the night until the rays of the sun would unlock them again in the morning.

Such a ubiquitous plant, visible everywhere and ignored by all. But what an amazing organism just the same. Every bit as special as a rare orchid in its own way and worthy of study and wonder on a ethereal June night.

Messing about on the river

I've always wanted to live by the sea but living perhaps as far away from it as it is possible to get in the UK, I've had to settle for hours spent by a meandering stream.

I've tried my hand at the floating fly with some success and landed my share of coarse fish, but seem to spend most of my time gazing wondrously at the flora and fauna that abound near the water's edge, particularly in the summer.

Whether it's the glut of a mayfly hatch, as songbirds stoop to take their share of the winged plunder on offer, or the sight of an unfamiliar and beautiful flower on the bank, being near running water holds a special charm over me.

I took the dog down to a shallow stretch recently to gauge his appetite for water work. In true style, he was in and retrieving before either of us had a chance to think about it.

But while I was there, inevitably my mind strayed. Small boys unnwittingly did their bit for conservation in the dappled pools as they rootled about under rocks for the destructive alien species of crayfish; a Kingfisher piped past with that umistakeable whistle and flash of burning blue; and fry of all varieties darted and sashayed through the cool, crystal water.

I know it's been opined many times before, but it's true what they say. There's nothing so nice as messing about on the river.

Red Kite

I saw a red kite wheeling over the back of our house last week, soaring in that angular, almost prehistoric way they have. It quite made my day.

It is the first I have seen in such close proximity to the village, and considering only 10 years ago I was travelling around the country to catch a glimpse of these magnificent predators, it demonstrates a remarkable resurgence in their numbers.

It was a tradition that on the May Bank Holiday my then girlfriend (thankfully now my wife) and I would travel down the M40 to Stokenchurch to see Red Kites mewing and planing across the chalk hills of the Chilterns where around 50 pairs had been introduced, I believe sometime in the late 80s.

We then lunched at a favourable local hostelry and chatted enviously to locals who told us the birds regularly swooped over their bird tables as they scavenged for scraps.

The afternoon would be spent around local bluebell woods, marvelling at that incredible palette of blue that seeps from the gloaming under the trees. After a pleasant couple of hours following badger tracks and birdwatching among the trunks, we would head home and open a bottle, feeling we had been part of a small but important natural success story.

I can hardly believe that today I can walk out of my back door with my binoculars and find a kite or buzzard hunting alongside me in the local rides and hedgerows, where once only the humble kestrel ruled the skies.

Screaming of the swifts

Spring is getting close to top speed and ready to burst, full-stride into early summer.

We've had an outstanding few days on the weather front, helping to remind me that when we get our dose of decent sunshine, there's nowhere better to be.

The evenings now draw on incredibly late and it's still light enough to walk the dog at 10pm. Those dark, dank winter days seem like someone else's memories, so distant do they seem while I sit sipping a G&T watching the sun go down.

Surely someone somewhere has carried out a study which proves that people are happier when it's sunny? As I write, I can hear kids playing outside, and the smell of burning charcoal wafts through the open window as barbecues get dusted off and wheeled out for a chance to cremate some meaty offerings.

Birdlife is frantically busy, nest-building and chick-rearing, with barely time for a few hours' sleep before the sun is out once more and the whole process begins again. Cats are prowling all hours too, taking their massive toll on our songbirds.

Another added benefit of having a dog is that these furry feline marauders are kept out of the garden. Diesel's training is going well, with multiple retrieves and even some water work taken in his not inconsiderable stride. The light evenings mean fitting this in after a day's work is no problem. The children adore him.