Finding Joy in the Garden

 

1. The birdfeeders. One of the biggest sources of joy for me in the garden. Robins, blackbirds, blue tits, great tits, long-tailed tits . . . and a number of other birds all visit.

To prevent feeders becoming a hotspot for the spread of disease, it is important to give them a warm and soapy cleaning once or twice a week. The birds might show little appreciation – pooping all over them again almost immediately after cleaning – but they are more likely to stay healthy. And reward the responsible garden bird lover with their calls and songs.

2. Growing fruits and/or vegetables, either for yourself or for wild visitors. 

There is great joy in watching any plant grow from seed. A sense of accomplishment too. Nurturing them through the good days, and helping them through every adversity.

In these days of belts tightening and prices rising, it's a good way to save a bit of money too.

With fruits and vegetables, you can taste the results of the work you put in!

3. A dish of water on the ground. Any wild visitors – like hedgehogs, foxes, or badgers – will always be grateful for a much needed drink.

In summer heat, fresh water is vital. In the colder months too, when natural water sources might freeze over, birds and other animals will appreciate a drink.

Important to keep dishes, bowls, and baths clean, for health and hygiene reasons, just as with birdfeeders. 

4. Be a little bit lazy. Leave, or even create, spaces that are a bit "messy".

Wild visitors appreciate somewhere to shelter or hide away. A patch left wild, an upturned plant pot left, or, as above, a little pile of bricks. All can be utilised by wildlife visitors.

I have enjoyed watching a visiting field mouse in the evenings scamper from that small brick pile to a little seed left on the ground.

5. Stop a little while. Watch, listen, smell, touch, and maybe even taste.

Having access to a garden is a wonderful thing. Not everyone has a little green space just outside their door. 

It would be a shame not to stop and appreciate it for a while.

I have been languishing in bed for a couple of weeks, under Covid's dark spell. It's been an awful time.

I am now emerging from the illness and getting back to normal, but lingering exhaustion and weakened health has left me with less appetite for long walks and exploration. For the two weeks or so that I was very ill I didn't even have the energy to get out into the garden!

However, in the last few days, easing my way back into normality, it is in the garden where I have been reconnecting with nature. Watching birds at the feeders, checking up on plants.

Here's hoping that I can cast off this post-Covid exhaustion, like a snake sloughs dead skin, and get back to those neglected tasks. Coming winter means the garden demands attention.

What brings you joy in your garden? If you have no garden, do you utilise another space to connect with nature close to home?

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Wild garden : making space for birds

 

A view from the garden. (Photo from personal collection)

Food

I stand at the sink, washing out my coffee mug, and look out on the garden. After breakfast and coffee, it's always time to go out and check on the plants and the birdfeeders.

Outdoors, the temperature is around twenty-one degrees Celsius, and the day feels fresh. Certainly more comfortable than those summer days earlier in the season, when the sun beat down oppressively.

The first task in my routine, I rinse out the birdbath, a makeshift thing made out of a planter dish, stones, and bricks. This removes feathers, leaves, seeds, and whatever else might be muddying the water. Cleaner water makes for a more pleasant bath/drink. Plus, running water draws attention, and not just from birds; I have noticed that wasps often fly in for a drink as I am pouring water into the bath.

Makeshift birdbath. (Photo from personal collection)

Next, I check the feeders. One, a seed feeder, lantern shaped with a circular lip running around the base that small birds can cling onto, feeding on seed that collects in the bottom. The other is a hollow ceramic cactus into which birds can enter and exit through holes on either side of the feeder.

I check the feeders for a few things. Firstly, to see what has been eaten. This is useful to check on everyday because, of course, I can top up as and when needed. Also, as I get to know how much the birds eat on a regular basis, I can better judge and adjust how much food I put out for the birds. Feeders don't need to be filled full. It is better to put out what you might expect to be eaten over two or three days. Food that is left for too long runs the risk of becoming mouldy, or attracting unwanted attention. 

Checking on what is eaten from the feeders on a regular basis will also enlighten me to any changes in the feeding habits of feathery garden visitors. This could be useful for a number of reasons, such as responding to changes in behaviour and needs as seasons change, or perhaps  might hint at changes in which birds are visiting the garden.

The suet feeder I check because of the reasons above, and also because, in my experience, they can be particularly vulnerable to certain circumstances. For example, during the hottest days of this summer, the suet feeder began dribbling its contents onto the ground below!

There are other, less direct ways that the gardener can go about feeding birds. The plants we cultivate and allow to grow in the garden ought to be bird friendly might produce seeds for hungry birds, and they might attract insects which birds will eat.

Native wildflowers are excellent because they are the flowers to which our native insects have adapted and with which they have evolved alongside.

Shrubs and trees also make for excellent hunting grounds, where Wren might flit into looking for insects and spiders to eat. And, it makes for great cover, should the smaller birds that feeders attract have to evade a predator – a Sparrowhawk has been a regular visitor here!

Please, don't vilify those birds and other animals which predate these smaller birds. They are only doing what they have always done. They cannot possibly be responsible for the dramatic declines in the last five or eight decades. None of them have developed extraordinarily more efficient hunting methods in that time. 

We might do better putting back some of the things we have removed from the landscape – hedgerows, shrubbery, wildflower meadows – before vilifying wildlife.

Health

Once a week, I clean the feeders and the bath – this is vital to providing a healthy space for birds in the garden.

Just as we humans are more susceptible to catching viruses and other ailments in spaces where we come together most often, the same is true of birds. This means that unclean feeders are a hotspot for diseases to be passed between birds.

Parasitic viruses, such as trichomonosis, can be passed from one bird to another through saliva. Faeces too, of course, should be cleaned for the same reasons.

In nature, when birds feed on fruit from trees, for example, that source of food will need time to replenish. And so, it will be some time before a number of birds visit that exact same spot again after other birds have fed there. However, birdfeeders, which are frequently refilled, will attract birds to the same spots over and over again. This increases the chances of cross infection between birds, and is good reason for keeping feeders clean.

I use a bucket, hot water, soap, and a sponge. Some feeders are easier to clean than others, it is true, but there are feeders on the market now which are designed to be easy to clean, precisely because it is acknowledged how important clean feeders are to the health of garden birds. However, with pipe cleaners, toothbrushes, nail files, or whatever tool you can get your hands on, you can get into those hard to reach places a little more easily.

As a little tip, the RSPB sells a birdfeeder cleaning kit, and other hygiene products, in their online shop – here.

And so, coffee mug cleaned – feeders and birdbath too – I can sit a while and watch. Bees and butterflies visit the budleia. Sparrows are holed up in the Philadelphus, sometimes flitting to the hawthorn or the budleia. A wren has visited before, and also took a liking to the budleia. Some don't like it, but wild visitors seem to love it.

The garden hums and buzzes and chirps with life. Allowed a little space, life comes. And it makes for a much more pleasant scene than a dull, manicured patch of lawn.

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Communing with nature, and nature lovers

 Capsicum and water droplets; sometimes nature is right outside the door. (Photo from personal collection)

As a lover of nature and wildlife, I often see my outdoor experiences as meditative, or as a communion with nature. On any long distance ramble, as I huff and puff through forests and fields, there is usually at least a moment of peace and clarity. Slivers of green and blue break through the concrete grey and black mirrors.

In today's posting, I want to reflect on, and look forward to, my interactions with nature and wildlife. And, I hope some of you might join me. 

Please do drop some of your answers to the following questions in the comments below.

How will you interact with nature today?

My most frequent interactions with nature happen in the garden. It doesn't matter what else is going on, how otherwise engaged I might be, I can make a minute or two, at least, to slip into the garden.

Personally, I am a fan of the unkempt and the overgrown. Whatever that means. The bees, the birds, the butterflies, and moths seem to like it too. Neighbours have their lawns and paving, but they don't seem to get quite as many wild visitors. And I know which I prefer. Life. Wildlife.

Yesterday, I watched a bumblebee visiting the flowers on my chilli pepper plants. A week or so ago, a wren flitted in and out of the budleia. A hummingbird hawkmoth regularly visits the budleia and red valerian. 

There is a lot of nature and wildlife just outside the door.

Do you have a garden? A balcony? Where will you go today?

Out walking, and sweating, in July. (Photo from personal collection)

How will you interact with nature this week?

When a day is free before me, when I want and need for nothing else, I love taking off on a countryside footpath and rambling for hours. That has been a constant for me since I was quite a bit younger. And the rambles were easier.

The physically exhausting experience of dragging oneself up and down hills, sweating and breathing harder, rewarded with nature and wildlife, is wonderful to me. Buzzards, red kite, swifts, swallows . . . All have passed overhead as I traipsed the outdoors this summer. All made me stop and wonder. They on wing, me on foot, for a moment together we  knew the struggle and peace in the transience of things.

Perhaps too, in walking long distances, over stretches of land untamed by slabs and pavements, there is a reconnection. A small step back to the ways of ancestors that better knew the ways of nature, and how to read its signs and clues.

How will you interact with nature this week? Are you a rambler too? Or, are you more inclined towards birdwatching in a hide?

Try anything new lately?

I am always learning, and there is always something new to discover. There are vast holes in my knowledge of the natural world and the wildlife around me. But, this is nothing to be ashamed of.

It doesn't matter whether you're taking your very first steps as a naturalist or your Chris Packham – none of us can possibly say we know all there is to know!

Our understanding of the natural world is ever evolving, in no small part because the natural world itself is ever evolving.

My pockets, my backpack, hold pocketbooks and guides to help me identify birds, flowers, leaves, and other things I don't recognise. I am ever learning, and the newest thing I did is probably going to be some scrap of knowledge I acquired. 

Identifying a flower, a bird, learning the difference between one call or song and another . . .

What about you? What have you learned recently? Or, have you had a brand new experience?

Where were you six weeks ago?

Six weeks ago, we were, globally, going through one of the hottest Julys on record.

The headlines told of rivers drying up. Landscapes that had been green weeks before were turning golden brown. And, here in the UK, we saw temperatures touch record breaking highs – over 40°C in places.

With drier, hotter summers a real possibility for the future, has this summer given you pause? What do you know of the consequences facing us if this becomes the norm? Or did you just welcome the summer sun?

Where will you be in six weeks time?

Autumn, winter on the way . . .

My mind turns to orange, brown, and red leaves littering the ground. I think of crisp, cooler days. I think of rain. I imagine those footpaths that, at the moment, are baked dusty dry, that will perhaps become mud.

In the garden, I will be thinking about preparing plants for winter. The strawberry plants that I will trim back when winter comes, and bed up with straw as they go dormant through the colder less sunny months.

Autumn is a time for preparation, as conditions change. A time for looking at what you have, being grateful, and a time for looking forward.

Nature and wildlife will also be preparing; gathering foods that will see them through winter, preparing for vast journeys, for some it is the time to breed . . .

In six weeks, we will be in early October. Where do you think you will be? How will your interactions with nature change? How will you have changed?

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Summer Reflections

 

Comma butterfly on yarrow. (Photo from personal collection)

It has been a while since I published a post here. And I am sure my presence has been sorely missed. So, with that in mind, I thought that I would take a little look back over my summer 2022 so far.

Perhaps the first thing to note of this year's summer, from a nature lover's perspective, as compared with the summers of the last two years, is that Covid-19 and lockdowns are not quite so present here, in the UK, as they were. There are pros and cons to this.

When lockdowns came into effect, and everyday activities had to adapt to an extraordinary situation, people found a great appreciation for the nature and wildlife they perhaps hadn't noticed before. Suddenly, mountain goats and deer were going viral, and everyone was taking to footpaths and waters for a little release. 

There were, unfortunately, facemasks and latex gloves discarded in the grasses and rivers, amongst the usual rubbish. This never made a whole lot of sense to me; why go so far as to use the PPE but then discard it so carelessly? Do you have any understanding of how viruses spread? 

Don't get it, never will. But then, I don't understand littering in general. Why is it that takeaway containers become too much to bear after they are empty? You can carry them down to the park when they're full of food? But it's too much to deal with, too far to the nearest bin, once you've filled your belly?

Bless.

Rubbish in the fields. I'm torn. Sometimes I wish there were more people out on the countryside footpaths. Then, I see this, and I think there's more than enough people out there. (Photo from personal collection)

Whenever I am able to do so, I pick up litter. It's not always possible. Out in the middle of nowhere, without gloves or a picker, or just an empty bag in which to place rubbish, it can be unwise, or even unsafe, to go picking up the rubbish.

To be honest, it is such a problem that any good hearted person must pick and choose which pieces of rubbish they pick up – otherwise you could spend your whole day picking up rubbish, never get where you're going, and not make a dent in the problem.

Bless those groups that volunteer their time for coordinated litter picks!

I fully support the move towards a circular economy for this reason, and others. In particular, government plans to roll out a recycling scheme that would see consumers get money back on purchases when they recycle containers might go some way towards improving the problem of littering. 

Customers, at the point of purchase, would pay a small deposit which would be returned when containers are recycled. For this reason, schemes like this are referred to as a DRS (Deposit Return Scheme). This does, of course, rely on collections and the recycling being done efficiently and effectively once consumers have done their part. Another concern is the speed at which the UK government is going to roll out this scheme – we're talking years!

Evening primrose. Opens in the evening – clue's in the name – just in time for the night-flying moths. (Photo from personal collection)

This sunnier time of year is great for watching flowers open and, hopefully, the visitors they attract.

The flowers I have planted all call pots and containers home, and I have been potting and re-potting as they've grown and needs have changed. The plus to potted plants, is that they are mobile, and they can be moved to keep in the sun. Or out of it, as the case may be.

Also, since they are contained, they are controlled. But, they are limited by the space they have. Hence the need for repotting and thinning out, so that they can reach full potential.

For me, first the daisies and the poppies came. And they did their jobs well – bumblebees buzzed inside the poppies, and the daisies attracted hoverflies and other bees. Other flowers and fruits have come through since, and it's a joy to watch, and to be a part of it.

My appreciation of plant life came via my appreciation of animal life. But, now that I have found it, I love plants for themselves too, not just their place in the ecological landscape. They are fascinatingly strong, resilient, and, I would argue, even intelligent!

Well, that's a little snapshot of my summer so far. A little recap blog post, a bit of a catch up, a bit of a ramble through some thoughts and feelings. I took some time away from  a few things in the last month or so, but I hope to get back on this blog regularly once again.

I haven't covered everything here, of course. There is the Big Butterfly Count to talk about, birds to discuss, and lots of walks to reflect upon. Plus, the plants in the garden could have a number of posts of their very own! But, there's plenty of time for all that in these long days of summer . . .

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Aphids, aphids, aphids . . .

 

Poppy (Papaver rhoeas) from the garden. (Photo from personal collection)

Every morning, somewhere between waking up and my first coffee of the day, I go into the garden. I look over my plants, just to check on how they are doing, and how they might have grown since the day before.

There are a number of things that can affect a plant. The weather, for a start. Wind can topple, and too much sun can wilt. Then there are insect and animal visitors.

Poppies again. Apologies. (Photo from personal collection)

A few weeks ago, I noticed that I had some aphids making themselves at home in my wildflowers . . . 

What are aphids?

Aphids are a very small insect that suck sap from plants. Some species – there are a few thousand – specialise in a single plant, others are generalists and can take food from a number of different plants.

They can reproduce asexually, that is, without the need for their eggs to be fertilised, so their numbers can multiply rapidly. In this way, the female produces live aphids. Later on, in autumn, the females will reproduce with males so they can lay eggs that will overwinter, ready for next spring.

The problems

Aphids can reproduce at a speedy rate, and as they suck the sap from the plants upon which they are living, that is going to lead to a greater and greater strain upon the plant. 

Aphids' activity upon a plant can lead to distorted growth, wilting, and their waste, honeydew, can cause mould growth. As well as this, they can be vectors of disease between plants.

Strawberries, chillies, evening primrose; the little garden. (Photo from personal collection)

Aphids and ants

Aphids and ants have a fairly well documented symbiotic relationship. 

Ants take honeydew from aphids, which is a valuable source of energy for the ants. This aphid waste is very sugary, and inspires the ants to farm and protect the aphids.

Aphids are food for a number of natural predators – ladybirds and their larvae, lacewing larvae, and some wasps are a few. However, if ants are present, and they are taking their food from aphids' honeydew, they will protect the aphids from these predators. 

Ants will also escort aphids to new plants as aphid numbers increase. In winter, when aphids have laid their eggs, ants will take those eggs into their own nests to keep them safe.

Back to my garden

Oxeye daisies. (Photo from personal collection)

The aphids have been present in the garden for a little while. And I had noticed that some of the Oxeye daisies (Leucanthemum vulgare) were looking a little lacklustre as they bloomed. But, the wildflowers had been planted for the benefit of the wild lives out there in the garden. And, since aphids are part of that ecological landscape, I shrugged with a c'est la vie attitude, and I left them to it.

There have been some ladybirds in the garden and the flowers have been blooming, which in turn have still provided food for bees, which I have seen visiting. I trusted that nature would take care of things.

Yesterday however, in the evening, I went outdoors to check on the plants. As ever, aphids and ants were present on some of the wildflowers. However, I noticed that they were now beginning to populate the strawberry plants. Now, this aroused some feelings which challenged my original laissez faire approach!

The strawberry plants, and the chilli plants with them, are beginnings of an exercise in self-sufficiency. They are experiments in growing food for myself. So, as I endeavour to yield a fairly decent crop of produce, I began to resent the presence of these little sap-suckers.

I do not want to use insecticides. At all. This passion for plants stemmed very much from my passion for pollinators and other wildlife. That will always be a priority, so I simply will not go about spraying chemicals that might do harm to friendly insects visiting the garden.

Yesterday, I undertook some manual "pest" control. Going around the strawberry plants, lifting leaves, and looking under blossoms and fruit heads, I brushed off the aphids I found. Then I removed any leaves that were particularly well populated. I noticed that the ants seemed to resent my activity, as they became quite active themselves.

I will check over the plants again today, and I will probably undertake a similar procedure. I have heard it said that a solution of water and chilli powder will irritate the aphids and inspire an exodus, but I fear this might irritate lives beneficial to the plant too, and to pollinators.

I might invest in a small water pistol or a spray bottle with a decently powerful squirt. Another suggestion I have found across the internet being to go about and simply shoot them from the plants with water.

Whatever the method of control, if that is what you decide to do, it pays to be thorough; aphids are often found on the undersides of leaves or tucked away somewhere between leaves and stems. Also, please do not use insecticides – they are indiscriminate and will do as much harm to pollinators and other garden friendly visitors as they will to any "pests".

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Amazed by Life in the Garden

 

One of my crooked but beautiful poppies. (Photo from personal collection)

Whenever I talk about my interest in gardening and plant life, I often tell people how it all began with my love for wildlife. Animal life just seemed so much more dynamic and interesting to me when I was younger. It wasn't until I was a little older that my consideration for nature grew to encompass plant life and gardening.

I have never cared for worrying over a well-manicured lawn. And I have no interest in planned and perfected tidy gardens. My interest in gardening has very much stemmed from my care and concern for nature. It is one small way in which I can give a little back to something which has given me so much.

The other morning, I watched amazed as a bumblebee, either a White-tailed bumblebee or a Garden bumblebee, I think, visited one of the flowered poppies. That is what it had all been for. All the checking and tending, meeting the needs of the plants as and when they arose.

The flowers of a poppy have no nectar, but they are rich in pollen which provides the bees with essential proteins and fats. 

My poppies have grown in crooked, and I think that there are probably containers out there that are much more "Instagram ready". But I couldn't care less because it was for the bees, and other pollinators, that I sowed the seeds last year.

Yeah, of course, I snap a few pictures, and yes, I share those pictures across my social media. But if nobody but the bees show appreciation for those scarlet flowers, that's just fine with me.

Perfect red petals at the ends of crooked hairy stems, and other hairy little buds ready to burst wide open. (Photo from personal collection)

Poppies are an annual herb. I sowed the seeds last year, and they lived in the soil of my container for a little while. The seeds germinated last autumn, and the plants spent the last year making themselves at home in the container. They have faced challenges; some of the storms of the last year left them a little battered. But they revived, for the most part. They retained enough strength that they began to flower this month.

Once these sunnier months are over, I will collect the seed heads, and sow those seeds in hope of another crop next year. Though, perhaps I will keep some of those tasty seeds back for myself!

Though my interest in plant life stemmed from my passion for nature and wildlife, I have discovered a real appreciation for plants themselves. They are incredibly resilient and strong. I have checked over plants in the garden, thinking that they were beyond saving, looking brown and shriveled, only to later find them looking green and verdant again a day or so later. They have taught me that, given the chance, life will endure.

As for the part they play in the wider ecological landscape, they are at the centre of life on this planet. Of course they are. They are vital to all forms of life on land. They provide food, clean air, materials for shelter, medicine, and even mental wellbeing. Yeah, they have definitely earned my appreciation, and I stop amazed, just to see how they have grown.

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I resist allowing ad space, hoping to generate conversation in this space, rather than clicks and sales. With support from readers, I can write freely with my considerations being only for my own experiences and research, as opposed to obligations to commercial and corporate sponsors.

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A Garden With A View

 

European garden spider (Araneus diadematus) drinks from a water droplet in the garden. (Photo from personal collection)

Begrudgingly, I live five minutes walk from a town centre. It is a setting of red bricks and grey concrete. On Saturday and Sunday mornings, splashes of puke and discarded takeaway containers dot the pavements. Plastic wrappers and aluminium cans just as likely to colour grass verges as wildflowers. But there is the garden . . .

The mornings are informed by coffee aroma, bird calls, and flowers. Recently, the poppies (Papaver rhoeas) started to bloom, petals like vibrant drops of blood, or a saucy lipstick shade. The Spring sun  has been coaxing the plants into flower. And, as rich dark coffee filters through paper, the mornings are a tableau of visiting birds, those pretty flowers, and the squeal and strain of concrete urban noise.

A blackbird (Turdus merula), a female, has caught my attention recently. She visits my makeshift bird bath for tentative sips, more often than not hopping into the water afterwards. She splashes about and scratches at her head with one of her feet. Then she'll visit the peanuts and oat mix I leave on the ground for her, and whoever else might fancy the food. She is braver than some of the other garden visitors and seems to mind my presence less. 

Woodpigeons (Columba palumbas) visit and, despite their being larger than other birds in the garden, they are some of the most skittish visitors. They absolutely will not land and partake of anything on offer if I am out there. From a window I might be allowed to watch one of them, but even then they circle food and water warily. They draw close, take a beak full, and move away again.

The pigeons are often thought of as dirty and grey things, but this isn't quite fair. The Woodpigeon might just seem grey at first glance, but their chests have a little splash of purple, and around their smart white collars there are patches of slightly iridescent green. Their plump and proud breasts belie their timid hearts. Even their relatives, the Feral pigeons (Columba livia), common to many a town and city centre, can be quite colourful. And their often unkempt appearance and poor condition has much more to do with how our own inefficient waste disposal impacts upon the environment and wildlife. Perhaps their appearance reflects more poorly on us than it does them. Those scrappy little underdogs are just doing the best they can with what they have.

A timid Woodpigeon (Columba palumbas) visits the peanut and oat mix. (Photo from personal collection)

Coffee cup empty and a desire to get outside, I go and check on my plants. My little garden is expanding and I, at the time of writing, now have six pots containing chilli pepper plants, three potted strawberry plants, and a variety of wildflowers for pollinators and any other little lives that might benefit from their presence. It is not the most impressive garden anyone could set their eyes upon, but it suits me just fine for now. Though I do hope to expand further as time goes by - their is a pride in bringing a plant to flower and fruit that is quite addictive. And, oh, then to see bees, butterflies, and beetles benefit from the plants of the garden!

Last year, I introduced a single potted strawberry plant to the garden, and that parent plant provided me with two other plants, as well as delicious fruits. I was proud to find that they survived their overwintering, snuggled up quite cosily beneath a blanket of straw during those cold months. They have returned this year, green and strong. Flowers come before the fruits, and a number of blossoms have appeared on two of the plants. The third, the smaller of the three, shows no flowers yet, but is green and vibrant. And I am proud of that little verdant plant; through the winter it looked unwell to my eye and, at one point, I thought it was dead. It had looked like nothing more than a little brown stump of a shoot to me.

The chilli pepper plants are a first for me. A little research lead me to understand that they fair better in glasshouses before being planted outdoors. However, without a glasshouse or proper propagators, I decided instead to use a pair of transparent buckets to cover the pots in which I planted the seeds. Then I placed them in the sunniest spots of the garden. And, so far, it seems to have worked. Of course, as I said, this is a first for me, and these are early days . . . But the seedlings are promisingly green and healthy in appearance.

My little garden - strawberry plants, chilli pepper plant seedlings, and Evening primrose at the centre. Those vibrantly red poppies in the background. (Photo from personal collection)

I quietly advocate for gardens that are as wild as possible. Wildflowers are where my own interest in gardening began a few years ago. Or, to be more accurate, my interest began with a concern for the pollinators, their importance in that big wide wonderful ecological web, and the trouble that they were in, and still are unfortunately. From there, my endeavours increased and grew to encompass a seed of interest in self sufficiency. So, amongst the flowers for birds and bugs, there are fruits for myself too.

Yes, though these efforts and these plants are for the lives that call the garden home, they are also for me. And they not only satisfy my health in terms of cultivating fruits and food that I know are as fresh and organic as I know how to produce. They also calm the mind.

It has been discovered, through EEG measurements (Electroencephalography) that when human beings see fractal patterns in nature brainwaves indicate a relaxed state. These patterns made up of smaller and smaller patterns, these fractals, are ever present in nature. They are found in flowers, in snowflakes, and trees - just a few examples. The closer you look at the patterns, the more patterns are revealed.

Why do these fractals produce such a reduction in stress? By as much as about 60%? Induce a relaxed state of being?

It is thought that, put simply, human beings feel so much calmer in the presence of nature's patterns because we evolved alongside those patterns in nature, and so our brains are wired in such a way that we process this visual information quickly. *

So, as I gaze into flowers and leaves, and I feel calm and peace descend, there's a scientific explanation for that!

There's also those little antidepressant bacteria in the soil. And, oh, just the poetry and romance of being around nature. 

Yesterday, in the evening, I sat for an hour, just watching what took place in the garden. I watched the poppies wave in the breeze, their delicate petals already bruising and ruining. I listened to sparrow calls and train wheels squealing on tracks. The calling of a collared dove in the distance, the calls of children playing out there somewhere too. The smells of food cooking wafting from some neighbour's flat window. But, yes, through the urban sounds and smells, there are the birds and flowers.

The garden is a collage of House sparrow calls, the flap and clap of a startled Woodpigeon's wings, and a Magpie's harsh voice from a branch somewhere behind me. A little splash and my attention is drawn to the bird bath - the female blackbird is bathing. I take in the plants I have grown , the birds and bees invited by food and flowers, and just feel calm. And I feel quiet pride. 

A good garden, perhaps especially when it is situated in the middle of a concrete town or city, is a blessing.

* If you would like to read a more detailed description of fractals in nature and their impact on our wellbeing, you can do so here, in this article from The Atlantic (26/01/2017).

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Inspiring words . . .

 

A pair of titles from a self-sufficiency series, titles that occupy my shelves. (Photo from personal collection)

When I need information or inspiration, I often immerse myself between the pages of a book. Anyone that knows me - a short list - could probably tell you my two big loves are nature and books. Both of these loves allow one the opportunity to see the world from the perspective of others. In books, it is the viewpoint of the narrator or experts - the book lover really is a practitioner of empathy, though not all are highly skilled in the area. For nature lovers, it is the opportunity to see this world is not ours alone - it is humbling to consider what a blip humanity is in the wider history of the planet. 

Jostling for space on my shelves are a number of books on self-sufficiency; from growing plants to keeping animals. Now, when it comes to keeping animals, as someone who doesn't eat them, as someone able to exercise care for lives beyond my own species, I have uneasy feelings about animals being kept domestically or as resources to be exploited. However, the undeniable truth is that domestic animals exist, and one can engage with that fact with either cruelty or kindness in their hearts and minds. I strive for the latter.

How I would love a small patch of land in this patch work planet of greens, blues, and greys. A place where I could grow vegetables, fruits, and flowers. A space a little bit wild too, where birds, bees, butterflies, and other little lives felt safe and free. With chickens, rescued from, perhaps, some grim past. And I would take up an egg or two, when they were laid, and cook up a fragrant meal using herbs, fruits, and veg from my little garden.

At the moment, I have a few chili pepper plants and some strawberry plants on the go, also, a selection of flowers, planted for the pollinators, in an urban garden. This garden is a combination of birdsong and trains screeching along railway lines not too far away. Not the ideal, but you take what you have, and go from there. I have a little patch of green in the middle of concrete grey for now.

My interest in self-sufficiency and gardening springs forth from my love of nature and wildlife. As I potter around the garden, repurposing old buckets as plant pots, building makeshift bird baths out of dishes and stones, there is a desire to disconnect from the noise of buying and selling. A desire to reconnect with the natural and the wild.

As my fingers dig into compost and soil, mycobacterium vaccae filling my nostrils and my head with their antidepressant qualities, I am peaceful. As I look up from considering my collection of plants, seeing a female blackbird make use of the bird bath I put together, I am more proud of that achievement than I am of any sale I ever made. As I taste the fruits, literally taste the fruits, of my labours, I am satisfied by an accomplishment I share with peoples who lived thousands and thousands of years ago, closer to the beginnings of us and our societies. 

You never know what might happen when you take a peek inside a book, I suppose . . .

This Sunday, why not take up a book, and see what happens?

Before you go, can I please ask you to consider supporting this blog with a coffee from ko-fi.com.

I resist ad space here, striving for the generation of conversation, rather than clicks and sales, and without commercial and corporate binds, subjects can be explored freely, consideration being given only to the research, and not the sponsors.

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The Study of an Urban Garden

 

The beginnings of this year's strawberries. (Photo from personal collection)

Through the French doors, and outside into the garden, on a bright and temperate Spring day. In pools of sunlight, warmth washes the skin. From the ivy choked borders of the garden comes the chitter and chatter of House sparrows (Passer domesticus). Beyond the borders of the garden, the other side of the ivy, the sound of rattling rails, a train shooting past. If one were to peek through the foliage of the garden's borders, they would see the train station's car park. Sometimes, the chattering, laughing, or calls of travelers intrude upon the desired quiet of the garden. Sometimes the thrum and pounding of music from some car. But the birds, mostly, continue their own chattering and chirping, through and underneath the less melodic noise of humanity.

Just outside the doors, I stand on hard concrete slabs of grey, a small patio. Bending down, I place a small plastic container - saved from some takeaway meal - on one grey slab. Inside, some defrosted garden peas - shiny little green orbs. Then I take myself to the tap protruding from the red brick wall, and hold a Jacob's cream cracker underneath running water, turning it between fingers and thumb. Water washes and splashes over my fingers, cool and clean and refreshing.

I crumble the cracker in my hand, near where I left the container of peas, forming a little pile of crumbs. Not a particularly nutritious food, but they are sitting in the kitchen, uneaten, and they will be taken up pretty quickly by ground feeders like Wood pigeons, Robins, and Blackbirds. They only get one or two crackers now and then, always washed under cold water, so that there is some moisture to the dry square snack. 

A container of oxeye daisies and common poppies, getting a bath; this allows them the opportunity to draw water up from the bottom of their roots. (Photo from personal collection)

Looking over the bird feeding station, I make a mental note of what has been eaten and what hasn't. Considering what I see, I think that, perhaps, I could stand to hang less peanuts on the feeding station than I did the last time - the birds seem much more interested in the coconut suet feeder and the suet balls hanging there. However, I remember, when I placed some peanuts on the ground the day before, they disappeared quite quickly, so maybe they are a treat for the Pigeons and other ground feeders.

On the grass, near the shelter of the ivy, and the small trees that the shrub has almost covered, I have a makeshift birdbath, which I have written about here. Gazing into the water, I see a little plant material, some dirt and detritus too. I know that this bath has been successful in attracting visitors. A female Blackbird (Turdus merula), in particular, I often see bathing in the water, shaking herself, splashing the water about. But I have also seen Woodpigeon, Robins, Dunnocks, House sparrows, and others, drinking and bathing.

Everyday I rinse the bath out, once or twice. Filling a watering can, I pour water into the bath, letting it overflow and wash out over the grass around it, just to keep the water clean, clear, and fresh. Hopefully, also, to lessen the likelihood of it becoming a hotspot for the spread of any disease or infection. Now and then, once a week or so, the bath is emptied of its contents and washed with soap and hot water. It's very important to keep these things clean, the places where the birds feed and drink.

Across the garden, on a branch just sticking out of the ivy, hangs a feeder. It's shaped like a cactus, though it is hollow, allowing for the entrance of birds, and for putting food inside that might attract them. The last time I filled it, I had put a sachet of oats in there, a sachet that I had taken from one of the kitchen cupboards. I eat oats infrequently myself, but the birds seem to like them. 

The cactus feeder is empty. I think on when I last gave the feeders a proper cleaning, and consider that it is almost time to undertake the chore again.

My cactus feeder, here containing suet pellets, not oats. (Photo from personal collection)

Looking back across the patchy lawn, short here and a little overgrown there - just perfect, in my opinion, I see a Dunnock (Prunella modularis) hopping around beneath the feeding station, picking at tiny fallen bits of something or other. I watch a moment or so, and a Woodpigeon (Columba palumbus) lands, near the broken cracker and the peas but, apparently spotting me, it flaps away again with fuss and flutter. A Blue tit (Cyanistes caeruleus), however, is not deterred by my presence, and lands on the coconut feeder. A few quick taps at the suet filling, and it's off again.

I check over my plants next, containers and pots of wildflowers, strawberry plants, and chili plants. Some Evening primrose (Oenothera biennis), for the benefit of night-flying moths, too. A little while ago, a pot of mixed wildflowers and a container housing Common poppies (Papaver rhoeas) and Oxeye daisies (Leucanthemum vulgare) were looking a little limp and wilted. To bring them back to life, I gave them both a nice cool bath (see picture above, previous to that depicting the cactus feeder). This gave the plants the opportunity to draw water, via the drainage holes in the bottom of the containers, right from the tips of their roots, and they really did perk up. After an hour or so in the bath, and some time afterward set in a cool spot to recover, they regained their verdant and vigorous appearance. I anticipate beautiful blooms in the coming weeks and months. I hope for them, and the visitors that they ought to entice.

Back indoors, I stop before heading back to my everyday demands, watching from a window. Without my presence, the birds emerge from the foliage, or descend from branches and sky. They figure out amongst themselves who gets what, and who gets what first. Through glass and wall, I still hear the chirping and chattering as they quarrel and call to each other. And, though I know they do not really care for my presence, and I think that is for the best, I feel a connection with them anyway as I watch them make use of this little space I have created. And I am proud of that space, and honoured by their being there. I think to myself, that's all they need really - the space, for us to step back, and just let them be, then they might be just fine. These tiny feathered things, delicate and yet so strong.

Finally, I have to turn away from the garden, and resign myself to all the business of being human . . .

Before you go, would you please consider supporting this blog with a coffee from ko-fi.com - the support keeps me planting, feeding the birds, and watering the flowers.

I resist ad space here, wanting to generate conversation rather than sales and clicks, and so, with my writerly ambitions, I ask readers to donate if they are able to so. In this way, without commercial links, I can write freely, without the influence of corporate or commercial parties.

So, if you can, please make a small donation over on ko-fi.com, where you will also find links to other of my writing. 

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A Curious Case of Wilted Wildflowers

 

My planter of Common poppies and Oxeye daisies. (Photo from personal collection)

My endeavours as a gardener are very much in their infancy. It was only a few years ago, when I got myself some wildflowers for the benefit of the bees, that my interest really turned from theory into practise. It was only a few years ago that I had the space to do so. And, as you might know if you have read any articles here before, my interest in cultivating plant life has developed very much via an interest in nature, wildlife, and ecology. I have no desire for a perfectly designed garden - indeed, I have some troubled feelings about shorn lawns and too much tidiness. So, we can expect two things here. Firstly, my learning, how to best care for the plants, is still something new to me. Secondly, I am not interested in cultivating the biggest plants, or the prettiest, but just that they flower, and that they are there for nature.

Ever since stormy winds hit the UK some days ago, my wildflowers have wilted in their pots, especially the Oxeye daisies (Leucanthemum vulgare), which grow tall, and have really had a bit of a growth spurt since Spring brought more sunshine to the garden. They were sown last year, and have spent the last 360 or so days making themselves at home in their container. So, when they wilted, I was quite concerned - with Spring here, I am eager to see flowers!

Being in pots, because of not being able to plant directly into the ground (it's a long story), I pondered whether or not they might be a little too crowded in there, and that that might be to their detriment. Then I considered that maybe they might not have enough space below the soil to have firmly rooted themselves, and that maybe the winds had unsettled them. But really, I had little idea. Like I said, I am still learning.

A silly little bumblebee that I found, frantically trying to escape from my bird bath, and rescued - an example of for whom these wildflowers are there! (Photo from personal collection)

With concern for my wildflowers, wishing and wanting them to survive long enough that I might see at least some flowers this year, and that, in turn, I would see butterflies and bees busy upon them, I took myself to the internet for some research. I have seen these little green lives revive before, when I thought that they might be doomed, and I still hoped there was something I could do to bring them back to life. There was obvious damage to some leaves, but mostly the plants were still green and buds were evident at the heads.

My searching threw up the suggestion of giving the pots a little bath, that is, taking the pots, plants and all, and putting them into a container of water. The idea being that the plants would be able to draw water up from the bottom of the soil, through the roots, via the drainage holes on the underside of the pots. For smaller plant pots, all you might need to achieve this is a bucket, but with the container in which my Oxeyes and Poppies (Papaver rhoeas) are planted being more trough shaped, I needed something larger and more accommodating.

Thankfully, I have a large plastic storage box just sitting empty, a storage box that I have been intending to turn into a miniature pond, but I haven't yet achieved that. Thankfully. And so, problem solved . . .

One of the poppies that did make an appearance last year. (Photo from personal collection)

I took the plastic storage box, the sort you can purchase from anywhere that sells general homeware, and filled it with water from the tap on the outside wall. From there, I took the trough-like planter in which my Oxeyes and Poppies live, and put it into the water, the planter floating a little. And I left them a while; for me, the hardest part, wanting to be involved, doing something, but knowing the best thing is just to give them time and space. And hope that they find their way.

When I came back a couple of hours later, the planter was sitting on the bottom of the storage box, and when I lifted the planter out of the water it was noticeably heavier - reassurance that water had been taken up. With the planter out of the water, I put it in some shade, not wanting too harsh a sunlight to beat down on these plants, to subdue them again, as they sat in recovery. I then popped my small terracotta pot (pictured above) into the water since the flowers there had also been wilting. Again, after a couple of hours, I returned and removed the pot from its bath, again with that mixture of concern and hope.

This morning, when I came out into the garden, there was a noticeable difference. The renewal hasn't been total, of course. Leaves that were wilted and damaged beyond repair haven't sprung back in to glorious life, but the stems are less limp, the leaves are less wilted, and there is a general perkiness to them that was missing the day before. There is a verdant strength evident in the way that they stand today that wasn't there yesterday.

One of the joys that I have found in gardening is the surprise of just how resilient green life can be, how life can seem gone, only for a small green bud or shoot to make an appearance in the soil. It is remarkable. But, of course, life wants to live, that's a simple but profound truth, and if you give it a chance, and a little care, it will survive. Yes, it might be a little battered and bruised, and some things might have to be cut away, so that vital energy can be redirected, but it can still survive. Maybe even thrive. And perhaps there's a lesson in that, again, simple but profound.

So, there it is - if you have some plants that have wilted in their pots, maybe they just need a relaxing bath!

If you found this post useful, please do let me know in the comments, and give it a like and a share!

Just before you go, can I ask that you please consider supporting this blog with a coffee from ko-fi - the caffeine keeps me pottering around in the garden, and reporting back on what I find there.

I resist ad space here, hoping to generate conversation, rather than clicks and sales, and so it is the support of readers that keeps this blog going. I strive to bring you well-researched, honest, and well-written pieces, and with support from readers, rather than advertisers, I can write without the binds of commercial influence.

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A work of art is useless. So is a flower.

 

Wild daffodil; Narcissus pseudonarcissus. (Photo from personal collection)

The title of this posting is taken from an Oscar Wilde quotation. He was attempting to make the point that the flower, like a work of art, has no practical use for humanity, that it does not guide or instruct, and that it simply brings joy. It blooms for its own joy, and from that blooming we derive joy also. Wilde also says that humanity might take the flower and sell it, therefore making it useful to people, but this has nothing to do with the flower itself, that this is simply a function forced upon the flower by humanity. This is not to say that Oscar Wilde did not think art and flowers important - he spent a great deal of his life surrounded by both - but he felt that not everything of worth had practical applications.

I have sometimes pondered, as I walk solitary countryside paths, lost in the flowers and the open sky, if part of nature's appeal to me is the lack of care for one another between us. For my part, I go out there and I fall in love with its beauty and its grace, I appreciate its intelligence and the interconnectedness of it all, but I know that there isn't really much there that I need in a practical way. Supermarkets, doctors' surgeries, scientists, and other human inventions have solved the problems that I might have turned to nature for. Of course, those inventions and the people that work in those sorts of places still need nature, for inspiration and resource. But it is no longer vital that I have the knowledge of nature that I am sure some of my ancestors carried in their heads.

For Nature's part, I am sure that she would prefer it if I were not there at all. Indeed, I see this in every animal that runs or flies from my approach. I see it in every step I take along a path worn that might otherwise be a stretch of flowers. I see it in the statistics that report ever decreasing numbers of almost everything. No, Nature does not require my presence to survive and thrive.

It is perhaps a very one-sided relationship that I have with nature. I go to her for the peace of mind, the joy, and the excitement that she gives to me. I hope that in my little efforts to grow a flower, or feed the birds, or take part in some citizen science project, that I am giving a little back to something so great. Though I am afraid nothing could repay what she has given me.

There is, of course, one thing wrong with Mr. Wilde's comments about the uselessness of flowers, and that is that he was only really considering the relationship between human beings and flowers in its most direct way. He wasn't thinking of how human beings benefit from flowers in the, sometimes tangled, interconnectedness of nature that is the basis for the study of ecology. We are all still, despite our sometimes apparent best efforts to remove ourselves from it, part of that interrelationship of all things. And forgetting that will be our downfall.

Common poppy; Papaver rhoeas. (Photo from personal collection)

My interest in gardening grew from my concern for pollinators, and how the loss of these fantastic creatures impacts other life. So, I planted wildflowers and watched them grow, discovering a fascination and wonder in the journey from seed to flower. Before that, my interest in nature had been almost exclusively in the apparently much more dynamic animal life - plant life was just a supporting player in the drama. What an idiot I was!

I now have a small garden that includes a mixture of wildflowers, containers that home Oxeye daisies and Poppies, strawberry plants, chilli pepper plants, and some Evening primrose. It brings me a little peace, some concern, and wonder in their strength and resilience. And their intelligence. Recent strong winds have battered my daisies a little, so I am experiencing some concern for them right now, but they are still green and standing, and I have seen these plants, with a little care, restored before. I hope that they are okay - I only planted them last year and have not seen a flower on them yet!

When I consider Oscar Wilde's comments about the uselessness of flowers, I understand what he means; he says that not everything that is useless has no value. We find joy in the flowers, even though they have no practical applications to our daily lives, or apparently so. And, perhaps, all those studies done since Wilde's death 122 years ago, those studies which have found there are great benefits to our mental health and wellbeing when we spend time in nature, back up what the Victorian author and playwright said - the flowers give us joy simply in their being, and for that alone they are of value.

Then, we consider the part of the flowers in the wider ecological sense and how they figure in our survival, just as they figure in the survival of other lives. And, in that sense, perhaps Wilde is proven a little wrong, and flowers are practical and useful after all, as well as being beautiful givers of joy and peace of mind.

Just before you go, can I ask that you please consider supporting this blog with a coffee from ko-fi.com - with writerly ambitions and a desire to be as independent as possible, it is the readers and supporters that power my writing here.

I resist ad space, desiring to generate conversation rather than sales and clicks. Here there is nothing but the desire to discuss and explore matters ecological, environmental, and wild, without the influence of commercial and corporate binds. Just free and easy discussion, please. 

Everything here, my writing, my photographs, is offered for free, to anyone that wants to read it. In this way, information and conversation can flow, and it gives everyone an opportunity to learn, including myself, more about our natural world. In turn, this might hopefully spark ideas about what we can do to help it survive. 

I please ask that, if you can, you help support the hard work that goes into each piece, with a small donation through ko-fi.com - if every reader gave just the minimum, it would make such a difference! More than you probably think!

Thank you for reading, everyone.

5 ways nature helps me to unwind

 

A pool of calm, in dappled sunlight, under a willow, beside the river . . . (Photo from personal collection)

Life, it seems to me, is full of noise. There is an awful lot of confusion over what is important and what is simply being made to seem important, all the things other people bluster and fuss over. The stuff we are told ought to be worried and fretted over. Sometimes, when you stand back and take a breath, you see that, really, it needn't be quite so anxiety inducing. That it's just others projecting their wants and needs, transferring their stresses and cares.

This being a blog that concerns itself with nature and wildlife I am, of course, on the brink of telling you all about how I go to nature to unwind, and take a step back from the anxieties of day-to-day life. And I do find a kind of meditative peace in the embrace of our natural world. I hope that as you read this little list of ways in which nature helps me to unwind, you remember to find a little pool of peace in this often confusing world for yourself.

1. Silence and stillness in a nature reserve

Not a great photo, but depicting a busy bumblebee take a moment amongst the verdant green, in a nature reserve local to me. (Photo from personal collection)

I believe that nature does not ask without giving. It does require from us that we care, understand, and appreciate, but if we can foster that care and appreciation, if we can nurture it, then nature rewards us. Perhaps the most precious gifts it can bestow are those lessons in the value of silence and stillness. It is when we can be still and silent, just watching and breathing, that nature rewards us by revealing the beauty of its grace and interconnectedness. When we stop still, more and more comes forth from the verdant canopies and undergrowth, put at ease by our calm.

If we can love nature, appreciate its beauty and intelligence, naturally a consideration follows. Then we come closer to a state of peacefulness and wellbeing. Not quite Nirvana, perhaps, but something wonderful.

2. The sound of raindrops

There are many sounds from nature that I could have chosen for their calming effects. There is birdsong, the sound of wind through the treetops, or the sound of a natural spring passing over rock. I choose the sound of rain falling because, as I type, rain is falling outside my window. There is an inexpensive little storage unit out there, with a thin corrugated metal roof, and listening to the drops performing their percussive song upon it is extremely relaxing. At night, when all else is quieted, there is something gorgeous about falling asleep with rain against windows and roof. 

3.Smelling the flowers

The season of  buds, blossoms, and flowers blooming. (Photo from personal collection)

Plants are fascinating in their beauty, and also in what they are capable of. In supplying food, and shelter, and their giving us breathable air, even cleaning water, their value is priceless. That alone would be enough, but there are a number of studies which also reveal plants as being beneficial to mental health. A quick internet search even throws up a study from the University of Michigan which found that time spent outdoors, amongst plants, can increase memory retention.

For those with a green thumb, and budding gardeners, there is a little extra good news. There is a bacteria found in soil, mycobacterium vaccae, which has been found to have effects on neurons similar to antidepressants, stimulating serotonin production. Digging in soil can stir up these microbes which, when inhaled, can make you feel relaxed and happier.

4. Sunlight on my face

Raindrops sound just fine, but I much prefer the feel of sunlight on my face over rainwater!

Ah, some of that precious, precious Vitamin D, please!

Vitamin D, as well as helping to regulate the amount of calcium and phosphate in the body, has been shown to have an effect on low moods. Studies have shown that low levels of vitamin D have been linked to depression and that, in some cases, increasing vitamin D can improve low moods. The body creates vitamin D from direct sunlight on the skin, so as the spring and summer months bring brighter and longer days, getting out in the sunshine is a must for those that want to unwind.

5. The taste of fruits and veggies

Picked from last year's strawberry plants in the garden last year. (Photo from personal collection)

There is something extraordinarily satisfying about picking a fruit or vegetable from a plant that you have nurtured from a seed or a small potted plant. Along the way, there is all the fascination of watching them grow, and the surprise at their strength and ability. Then, to see blossoms become fruit, and to taste the sweetness of them. It reintroduces an appreciation for food, growing something for yourself, that might be lost by simply selecting it from supermarket shelves and having it delivered to your door.

Thank you for reading. Just before you go, can I ask you to please consider supporting this blog with a coffee from ko-fi.com - the caffeine certainly isn't relaxing, but it does keep me writing!

I resist ad space, wanting to generate more than sales here and, with writerly ambitions, I throw myself on the kindness of readers to support this blog and my endeavours and adventures in writing.

If you can, please visit ko-fi.com, where you will also find links to other blog posts and other of my writing.