Primrose in Leaf Litter

Light in the Leaf Litter

Here at Sun Rising, each month we carry out a flora survey. We take four or five different areas and habitats, these changing in succession year on year, so we can maintain a record of how habitats develop over time. Most of the months of the year, this is simply about noting what is flowering or fruiting, while in the high summer months we record every plant, including the trees and shrubs. Today was our February survey.

All around the natural burial ground, snowdrops are now coming into flower.  Some are in groups that were planted some time ago and are gently multiplying, which is wonderful.  In other areas, especially wet and clayey areas, they tend not to last long, but replanting with new bulbs is worth the joy of their little flowers.

The other plant that is giving such delight at the moment is the wild primrose (Primula vulgaris), and I think they look never better than a the tatty old leaves of the woodland floor.  Here their other name of ‘fairy cup’ seems even more apt.

Primrose in Leaf Litter

Primrose in Leaf Litter

These pale yellow flowers can be seen at any time from December to April, at which point the surrounding vegetation usually hides the last of their blooms.  Pink primroses are usually cultivars and hybrids with garden primroses, not fully native, but some believe the pink may be a genetic variant.  Most non-native primroses are obviously not wild, coming in a variety of brighter colours from white to red: when a family plants one of these, we do remove it.  However, frequently the hares and rabbits will eat them first!  We think these garden cultivars must be much tastier, the wild ones having evolved a natural bitterness.

As some of the first flowers, primroses are important for the first insects that are emerging.  The name derives from the Latin, prima rosa, the first rose.  I’ve seen honey bees on ours, and a rather slow and chilly bumblebee. If butterflies that hibernate through the winter, such as small tortoiseshells, awake on unseasonably warm days in February or March, these early flowers are an important source of food.  My sense is that they feed us too, nourishing the soul when we’ve had enough of the cold winter greys, shining with their soft yellow light.

Bluetit at the Birdfeeder

Feeding the Birds

For many years, there were large birdfeeders near the entrance of the burial ground which we filled twice a week with a rich seed mix.  These attracted a wide range of birds.  The more common great tits, bluetits, chaffinches, robins were joined by less common bullfinches, greenfinches and marsh tits.  There was the occasional woodpecker having a go and, in the muddy grass and leaves under the feeders, there were pheasants, yellowhammers, wrens and blackbirds.

Of the remarkable visitors were the tree sparrows, and with a healthy population of breeding tree sparrows at Sun Rising, we were keen to support this locally endangered bird.  However, house sparrows began to flock in.  These slightly larger birds quickly outcompeted the smaller tree sparrow, and a few years ago, in an attempt to dissuade the former, we removed the feeders.  Sadly, nonetheless, we lost our tree sparrows completely.

Bluetit at the Birdfeeder

Bluetit at the Birdfeeder

All attempts to encourage them back have so far failed, and as winter approaches, we have taken the decision to return to filling the large feeders by the south car park, as well as putting back the field feeders at the other side of the grounds, in order to support the wider bird populations. We’ll see whether the house sparrows return to dominate.

It always takes birds a little while to find a new feeder, and the first to come are the bravest.  I have found this to be, without exception, the bluetits.  Extremely fast flyers, they can afford to be courageous, but their little size also means that they need to be brave.  Birds don’t lay down many layers of fat, as mammals do, simply because they need to remain light and agile in order to fly.  In fact, small birds, like bluetits, may only ever have enough energy stored to last a single night.  Which means most of the day they are looking for food, and they can often find it before the larger birds.

During the summer and autumn, there should be plenty of food at Sun Rising and in the surrounding fields.  But with frosts beginning, and the temperatures dropping, it’s wonderful to be able to support the local bird populations again.

Viburnum Leaf Beetle Damage on Guelder Rose

Naked Trees and Tiny Beetles

Last week we completed the second of four full surveys of memorial trees that we carry out each year.  Of course, being at Sun Rising most days, we are always looking out for anything unusual, but the survey days provide time to focus so nothing is missed.  We are mainly looking at saplings less than 10 years old, but also cast an eye over the older trees.

One of the key tasks of the May survey is to remove tree guards.  This happens when a sapling has grown sufficiently to cope without any protection from wind and weather.  It is usually when the tree is around 7 or 8 years old, when the main trunk is around 3″ in diameter.  This year, we removed around 45 guards.  I always get a sense of the newly unwrapped trees feeling rather naked and exposed – but they soon toughen up.  The guards are packed up and sent to be recycled.

Each year there seems to be one or two species that struggle.  Last year it was the Wild Cherry (Prunus avium): weakened by a wet winter and saturated soil, followed by drought, in 2020, the cold spring of 2021 gave them a hard start, but this year they are thankfully looking fine.

Viburnum Leaf Beetle Damage on Guelder Rose

Viburnum Leaf Beetle Damage on Guelder Rose

2022 is the year for our Guelder Rose (Viburnum opulus) to suffer.  The problem is Viburnum leaf beetle (Pyrrhalta viburni), known as VLB.  This native creature can be quite a pest.  Both caterpillars and beetles are eaten by ladybirds and lacewings and insectivorous birds, and in the past decade since first seeing it at Sun Rising we’ve left the trees to manage.  Very few have ever been badly affected.  This year, the VLB has been way out of balance, though, affecting nearly half our eighty memorial Guelder Roses, and completely defoliating eleven.

Whether it has been the climate, the weather, or a population that has gently grown after years of being left alone, we don’t know, but with the help of some sturdy volunteers we have been squishing the little caterpillars, one by one.  Those that have been defoliated at this time of year should have a new flush of growth, with healthy fresh leaves.  But the trees can’t do that every year – hence our stepping in now to make sure that any future problem is less severe.

Nature is always a marvellous challenge.  As I stand back and look at the areas of growing woodland, where birch, oak, cherries and other trees that we planted 15 years ago are now standing 15 to 20 foot tall, my confidence rallies.  It’ll be OK!

If you have a Guelder Rose planted as a memorial tree here at Sun Rising and you’re concerned, do get in touch.

Common Vetch

Poor Man’s Peas

At this time of year, the wildflower meadows are beginning to look lush with the rich growth of early summer.  At Sun Rising, that green is now sprinkled with bright yellow Meadow Buttercups, and the soft pink of Ragged Robin.  But amidst these is also the deep and vibrant pink of Common Vetch.

Common Vetch

Common Vetch in the Wildflower Meadow

The botanical name for this beautiful little wildflower is Vicia sativa.  The sativa tells us that it was once more widely cultivated (from the Latin sativum), and indeed, although the peas are fairly small, they are high in protein.  Though toxic when raw, well cooked these native peas were readily eaten by our ancestors.  In some parts of the UK, they are still known as ‘poor man’s peas’.

In more recent centuries, it has been grown not for human consumption but as a valuable animal fodder.  And as a legume, it is still sown as a green manure, especially on allotments, small holdings and in organic farming.  The plant creates little nodules on its root that house, protect and feed a bacteria called rhizobia, which in turn coverts nitrogen in the air into a form the plant can use, allowing it to create proteins.  If the crop is not harvested, but dug back into the earth, these little root nodules naturally enrich the soil.   As a crop sown in agriculture, a common name for it is tares, although technically the word can refer to a number of different vetch species.  In some dialects, a tare can simply mean a weed!

At Sun Rising there are two points in the year when it is an absolute joy: right now, in mid May, when it brings those glorious violet pinks to the green of the meadow, and again at the end of the season in July, when its black seed pods are drying in the summer sun – and at the slightest touch they will burst open with a crick!, its black peas flying off into the grass.

Sun Rising Cowslips

Thinking about Earth Day

Today, 22 April, is Earth Day.  More grandly, the United Nations calls it, International Mother Earth Day.  Organisations all over the world are using the day as an opportunity to focus human minds on the problems of climate change and habitat destruction.   Furthermore, as earthday.org remind us, we are all increasingly affected by the current state of the world’s business climate and political climate – as well as the ecological climate.  It isn’t just weather systems that are becoming wilder, more unpredictable and destructive.

However, being bombarded with yet more frightening facts and pessimistic possibilities can make us simply want to curl up, close our eyes, and grasp for a little denial, feeling there’s really nothing we as individuals can do.  Particularly when already coping with loss, illness or pain, what we actually want to say is that we’ve just had enough: we can’t cope with more stress, negativity and fear.  But the critical reality is, we all do need to play our part in facing this crisis.

That’s where the value of positive stories shines.  Knowing that there are places, however small, where nature is gently thriving, strengthens the heart.  Such places are nourishing, encouraging, just when we need it most.  At Sun Rising, the cowslips are always a radiant reminder of an England before intensive farming, but they also hum with positive possibilities.  Big bumblebees, the first hoverflies and busy, round beeflies are investigating each bright yellow flower.  Newly emerged butterflies, so smart and colourful, are now dancing over the meadows and hedgerows, orange tips, speckled browns and green-veined whites.

Cowslips and Spring Leaves at Sun Rising

Cowslips and Spring Leaves at Sun Rising

As well as cowslips, all over the natural burial ground, on graves and around the memorial plaques, there are snakeshead fritillaries, dandelions and primroses.  As buds on the trees break open, new leaves are unfurling in a dozen hues of vibrant green.  The cherry trees are blossoming in snowy bursts of white, the crab apples with delicate deep and pale pink.

Spending time amidst the beauty of nature isn’t a turning away from the world’s crises.  Moments immersed in nature’s peace, filled with birdsong, really do calm the soul, allowing us more easily to find our feet, to breathe gently, and head back into our lives refreshed and refuelled, ready to face the reality again.  Inspired, we are ready to take responsibility, to be accountable and do our part.

Oak in the Storm

Bending with the Wind

The storms whipping across Britain this past week have caused serious damage in places, chaos and havoc in others, and anxiety all round.  As a small person, myself, on unsteady legs, being outside in the winds has been absolutely exhausting, a perpetual workout for ageing muscles as I strive to stay upright.  At recent funerals here, with people drawn outside who otherwise would have preferred to remain safely indoors, I’ve watched others struggling as well.  Yet there are some folk, like a lovely celebrant at yesterday’s event, who are sturdy enough to stand in a howling gale and seem entirely unaffected …  The same is true, of course, with our trees.

Before the storms arrived, we had spent an afternoon checking every wooden tree stake on all of our young trees.  While winds may snap twigs and slim new branches, if blown right over a sapling is unlikely to break, being still wonderfully flexible, but it isn’t ideal.  Protected by tree guards, the only way they’ll blow over is if the stake breaks or is completely dislodged in saturated soil.  Checking each one, replacing and stabilising where necessary, we were optimistic that we (or rather, they) would get through unscathed, and thankfully that has been so.

Oak in the Storm
Oak in the Storm

Of course, saplings large enough to have some part above the top of the guard do crash about wildly within that protection.  However, like the tumbling of small children and mock fighting of cubs, this is much needed preparation for a growing tree: the roots need to be flexible within the soil, finding a secure footing yet able to bend with the wind as they gain height.

With regard to our larger trees, there was also no damage, for which we are particularly grateful.  Most of the mature ash within this landscape are affected by ash dieback disease: with regular surveys and very aware of our duty of care, we are gradually removing branches where necessary, and in time we anticipate most of the trees will have been felled, but a storm can find weaknesses we hadn’t identified.  Along the lanes hereabouts there were indeed plenty of ash branches down over the past week.

As for the oak, field maple, cherry and alder, the larger of these trees seemed simply to be enjoying the wind, moving with it but as untroubled as yesterday’s celebrant.  For myself, I’ll be very pleased when the air settles and I can stand easily again!

 

Fieldfare on Guelder Rose

Finding Winter Joy

It is easy to remember frosty, snowy winters from childhood, so many decades ago.  And although I’m sure there were dreary grey days, they don’t so readily come to mind: they weren’t the days of crispy delight, with cold wet noses and frozen fingers, crunchy footsteps on ice, and silly games in the snow.  Climate change is bringing us milder, wetter and – more pertinently – greyer winters.  When there are so many grey days, one after another, it can be extremely hard to keep our spirits up, even at the best of times.  When we are stumbling through grief, that can be even harder.

Working at Sun Rising means I have to get out, almost every day, into the natural world of the nature reserve.  This winter, for many of us, finding beauty out there has been even more important.  And it is there: even before the first snowdrops push through.  There are biscuit-yellow catkins on the hazels, dancing in the wind.  There are the scarlet-red guelder rose berries, and crimson-red rose hips, amidst those darkening to burgundy and umber.  The first primroses are coming into flower: creamy-yellow, they look fresh even amidst the damp leaf mold.  The first of the alder catkins are now out, on trees with last year’s catkins.  There are sharp nutty little crab apples, not yet eaten by the birds.  And of the birds, of course the robins are evident, following us around, waiting for us to turn the soil with spade or boot, making it easier for them to find the little worms.

Fieldfare on Guelder Rose

Fieldfare on Guelder Rose

But perhaps more than any, this year it is the fieldfare that has been inspired joy.  With their laughing chatter, these winter visitors are snaffling the rose hips and guelder rose berries around Sun Rising, where they hop about by themselves.  When they take to their wings, however, it is more than likely that others will join them, and you might see flocks of 20 or 30 flying over the meadow.  It’s an uplifting sight, even on a grey winter’s day.

Volunteers Planting the Northern Boundary Wildlife Hedge

Creating a Corridor for Wildlife

For many years, our work at Sun Rising focused on the southern half of the site. The northern half remained grassland, cut for hay. A few years ago, however, we were able to begin the task of transforming this northern half into the developing the nature reserve.

No longer taking a hay cut was the first step, leaving thick tussocky grass for small mammals, birds, moths and invertebrates all year round.  The next step was to address the northern boundary hedge.  This is owned by our neighbour and is cut hard each autumn, which is not optimal for wildlife.  What we wanted to do was create a broad, loose hedge of shrubs and trees that will actively and positively support wildlife throughout the year.

Volunteers Planting the Northern Boundary Wildlife Hedge

Volunteers Planting the Northern Boundary Wildlife Hedge

Last Sunday, with a glorious band of some 35 volunteers, we started the planting of almost 270 trees.  Being heavy clay, we can’t plant with a quick cut-and-heel-in technique as you can on easier soil: each tree needs a proper hole dug, with our special soil mix then used to fill in around the roots, the tree protection put in place, and a good ring of composted bark as a mulch.   It’s not a fast job, but further volunteers headed back on Tuesday.  The finishing touches will be completed over the next few weeks.

The main hedge is a mixture of hawthorn, hazel, bird cherry, wild privet, crab apple, dog rose, guelder rose and dogwood, this being almost 240 little saplings.  Behind that, there are another 20 or so, which will have space to grow into large trees, these being oak, small leaf lime, wild cherry, elm, field maple and wild service.  Between these trees and the boundary hedge, we will allow the blackthorn to encroach, filling in the space, but managing it so that it regularly regenerates and never overwhelms the hedge.

As the trees grow, and the habitat develops, this loose hedge will become an invaluable corridor for wildlife, particularly birds such as yellowhammers, bullfinches, linnets, tree sparrows, greenfinches, as well as the more common robins, blackbirds, great tits and bluetits.

We’d like to express our sincere thanks to all who contributed to the creation of this new habitat: those who have helped fund the cost of the trees and materials, those volunteers who helped plant the trees, and those who funded refreshments for the volunteers as well!  Thank you!

October Trees Still Green

A Dark Green October

There is a benefit to a mild October: we aren’t wrapped up in half a dozen layers, muddy boots, woolly hats and aching joints.  But when we recognise that such weather is another indication of climate change, that momentary personal benefit seems fairly small.  The sense of ‘being lucky’ to have another warm, dry day rightly falls away.

This year, October has not been the month of changing colours: most of the leaves are still green, albeit losing their vibrant sheen.  At the tops of the young maples and oaks, and on most of the cherry trees, the leaves are drying and, a dull and brittle brown, they are falling heavily within a day or so.  This is not as year of autumn colour.

October Trees Still Green

October Trees Still Green

What makes the leaves of our deciduous trees so beautifully green is chlorophyll, that magical pigment which allows trees to convert sunlight, carbon dioxide and water into the sugars they need – and the oxygen we breathe.  Throughout the winter, with shorter days and less sunlight, the tree stops producing chlorophyll and prepares to ‘sleep’ through the darker months. Withdrawing nutrients from the leaf, it grows a layer of cells at the end of the leaf stem (the abscission) which helps the leaf to detach and fall.

The many hues of yellows and browns in autumn leaves are actually already present in the tree leaf: throughout the summer months, the green chlorophyll masks them. When the amount of chlorophyll reduces as the days grow shorter, those underlying colours simply show through.

The quality of red, however, is quite different.  This is a pigment (called anthocyanin) which the tree has to create afresh each autumn.  Exactly why trees decide to do so or not is an area still being researched.  It is clear that when the weather is cold, crisp and bright, with plenty of sunlight, ideally with overnight temperatures heading for zero, we are likely to see those rich tones of red that make such beautiful autumn canopies.

Some scientists are suggesting that the red is a sunscreen, protecting the leaves from bright sunlight during their last weeks, so the tree can safely withdraw nutrients into its wood and roots; however, the cold temperature is also necessary.  Some have observed that trees on poor soils are more likely to produce the anthocyanin than on rich fertile soils: red leaves remain longer on the trees, allowing the last of the nutrients to be used.

Whatever the reason, as we move through a mild October, it may be that this is not a year for splendid autumn colours.  While the British climate continues to warm, it may be that such colours become a memory.  I sincerely hope not.

Ringlet and Meadow Brown on Creeping Thistle

Hot Sun and Butterflies

After a cold wet May, and a variable June, we have now landed in the midst of a very warm few weeks.  With temperatures in the late twenties and early thirties, many are staying indoors in the cool.  Not so the butterflies!  After such a slow start, there are now abundant butterflies here at Sun Rising.  Not all the usual species are evident, but it’s wonderful to see those that are.

In particular, the Ringlets and Meadow Browns are flying in good numbers now: you can see these two species feeding companionably here on Creeping Thistle, amidst the seeding grass wonderfully called Yorkshire Fog.  There are also plenty of Marbled Whites, a striking black and white butterfly which has been doing well at Sun Rising for a couple of years.  The various orange skippers are also flying now, Small Tortoiseshells, the first of the Gatekeepers and 6-Spot Burnet moths.  There are a few Painted Ladies and Common Blues in the new wildflower meadow too.

Ringlet and Meadow Brown on Creeping Thistle

Ringlet and Meadow Brown on Creeping Thistle

The wildflowers of the meadow are quickly changing in the heat: flowers of early summer, the Oxeye Daisies and vetches, are now going to seed, while the late summer flowers are baking in the sunshine, tickled by butterflies, hoverflies and bees.  The pale lilac of the Field Scabious and the deep pinks of knapweeds contrast with the rich yellow Lady’s Bedstraw.  Strands of pure yellow Agrimony stand straight amidst the grasses, now drying and shedding seed.

In the fields around, the tractors are out, cutting and baling the grass for hay.  It won’t be long before the combine harvesters are rolling through the arable, bringing in the cereal crops.  For our forebears these were busy days of working from dawn until dusk, scything, turning, rowing and stacking.  Feeling this hot, it’s hard to imagine that kind of physical toil.

In this intense heat, if we have the luxury and/or the discipline to do so, these are days to take life not just slowly but with a deep inner calm.  To do so while watching the almost constant activity of the butterflies and bees is pure delight …

Don’t forget Butterfly Conservation’s Big Butterfly Count too, running this year from 16 July to 8 August.  What a lovely reason to get out and see what butterflies are about, not just in our gardens, but local parks, woods and meadows.  Of course, you’re welcome to do your count at Sun Rising.