Springwatch 2007 - BBC Survey Into The Arrival of Spring

Springwatch is the biggest survey ever into the arrival of spring in the United Kingdom. It is run by the BBC in association with the Woodland Trust and the UK Phenology Network. In 2006, more than 100,000 records came in and we hope to top that in 2007. The records are supplied by people just like you and I. Why record spring? By collecting information about the first signs of spring, we can help build the most complete picture of the season as it unfolds across the UK. Scientists will have a better understanding of how spring is changing and what needs to be done to help wildlife thrive in the UK. People are asked to look out for six signs of spring and make a note of the date and the grid reference or postcode where they were first seen. People can record just one or all six signs;

First frog spawn
First seven-spot ladybird
First red-tailed bumblebee
First peacock butterfly
First hawthorn flowering
First swifts

Find out about the species and record your observations here.

I was planning to make this my blog entry for March 1, St David's Day. But on Monday 26 February 2007, frogs invaded my pond after breakfast, swarming forward into a seething mass of reproduction. Why all on the same day? How did they know when to arrive? Why after breakfast?

Cymbidium Orchids

Some photos of my beautiful Cymbidium orchids, a Christmas gift from intuitive girlfriends. The pot rests against the french windows in my kitchen, quite chilly at night, and due to the stone floor tiles, not much warmer during the daytime either. And they are thriving, on neglect. Occasionally I remember to water them, but haven't fed them since they arrived two months ago. In the meantime they have sprouted three flower spikes, each with multiple orchids. When the first flower spike appeared between Christmas and the New Year, I was so excited. Then little flower buds appeared, grew, and developed a mysterious-looking drop of dew (nectar?) at the pedicel where it joins the flower spike. And then gradually, over days, each flower opened to reveal its intricate beauty. And I grew them. Well, not exactly grew them, more accurately I failed to kill them. So there you have it. Cymbidium orchids, the ideal Christmas present for neglectful gardeners.

On Gun Crime And Demilitarized Zones

The enclosed podcast from BBC Radio 4. The programme, "A Point of View," broadcast on Friday 23 February 2007 at 20:50hr, features Australian broadcaster and writer Clive James, and presents a weekly reflection on a topical issue. This week, Clive talks about UK gun crime and the influence of martial arts movies. WARNING: this broadcast contains hilarious material that will put your pelvic floor muscles under severe strain from the start...

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio/aod/mainframe.shtml?http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio/aod/radio4_aod.shtml?radio4/point_of_view

Early Spring Sunshine

Hyacinths Late Winter, Early February

Brassicas Seedlings Progress

I sowed some brassica seeds mid-January, and by mid-February the cabbages were up and sprouting their two cotyledons, or primary leaves. And today, about four-weeks post sowing, the first true leaves are starting into growth. As for the cauliflower seedlings, they have broken through the potting compost over about a tenth of the seed tray, perhaps only a day or two ago.

The following photo was taken about three-weeks post sowing, in mid-February. Unheated glass house bench, bright and well ventilated. I think this might be the tray of Golden Acre cabbages. It shows so clearly the two primary leaves fully emerged and greened-up.

And this afternoon we have an additional weeks' growth, with the true leaves beginning to emerge.

Winter Gardening

Beauty may be found in the structures that remain once the season's temporary growth dies back. The north facing garden walls cover with ivy, seemingly painfully slowly, taking whole seasons to inch forwards over the brick.

Whilst those self same walls, but facing south and encased in glass, already offer peach and nectarine buds to the sun.

Twenty Love Poems XVIII and a Song of Despair

Here I love you
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.

Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.

Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.
The moon turns its clockwork dream.

The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.

On Tasks Left Undone

I still haven't done those blasted fruit canes. Each day I stand at the french windows, invariably with a cup of tea in hand, and survey my beloved garden. The weather changes; sometimes mist, sometimes rain, sometimes clear blue skies and the ghostly appearance of the moon during the daytime, sometimes dawn, sometimes noon. Always full with birds; thrushes, blackbirds, flocks of starlings, two collared doves, recently blue tits, one delightful, tiny wren, one territorial robin, millions of resident sparrows. An occasional fox. Maybe I'll do the fruit canes tomorrow. But I'm off to Sheffield tomorrow, maybe I'll do the canes in the afternoon.

The Hydrological Cycle and Gardeners

Up early this morning and into my workboots before 7am. That it was tipping with rain only added to my excitement. It's going to be a "soft day" as we'd say in Ireland, meaning rain falling softly on your head, constant and cleansing from clouds so low it looks like the mist has rolled off the Dales and into my garden, just for my delight. The first time I flew into Ireland, I was stunned by the vast rolling greenness, hardly surprising when you remember your geography lesson about the water cycle, properly called the hydrological cycle.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Water_cycle

There are three main types of rainfall - convectional rainfall, frontal rainfall and relief rainfall. Convectional rainfall may occur in Britain in the summer, after a long hot day, but is most commonly found in places with warmer climates. The ground or water in lakes or seas is warmed by the sun, throughout the day. The air above the land becomes heated. This makes the air less dense, so it rises. As the air rises it cools. Cool air can not hold as much water vapour as warmer air, when the air becomes too cold for the amount of water it holds condensation occurs. The point where this occurs is called the dew point. These drops of condensation form into clouds, gradually becoming tall thunderstorm clouds, called cumulonimbus. When these clouds become too big, containing too much water gravity forces them to release the water in a huge downpour.

Frontal rainfall is more common in the UK than convectional rainfall. Frontal rainfall gets its name because it occurs when two air masses of warm and cold air meet, causing a front. When they meet, the less dense, light warm air is forced to rise above the denser, heavier cold air. As the warm air is forced upwards it cools. When air rises above the dew point, when it can no longer hold all its water, the water starts to condense and form clouds. Precipitation falls over a wide area.

Relief rainfall or orographic rainfall is common in the west of Britain. The prevailing winds blow moist air from the Atlantic Ocean to the west of Britain onshore. As the air hits higher land, such as the hills and mountains in Wales and the north-west of England, the air is forced to rise. When air rises above the dew point, it can no longer hold all its water, which starts to condense and form clouds. This type of "rainfall" is called relief because it is affected by the lie; or "orographic" because it is affected by mountains. And this explains why Ireland (or West Britain if analysing 17th century Irish history), is so green.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/schools/gcsebitesize/geography/

Hydrological cycle revised, I headed out into the garden to check the winter standing brassicas. Cavolo nero looking magnificent, one or two red cabbages still hanging on in there, but the purple sprouting broccoli has at last come into its own. Thigh high, these vegetables are just calling out to be picked, their leaves squeaky and stiff, their magnificent, glaucous leaves holding the rain drops and looking just so enticing.

Friday Night Sleepover, Baghdad-Style

Another Friday night spent driving across rural Derbyshire, collecting various teenage girls en route to the house party. We are perhaps 2 miles away from the last pick-up and merci beaucoup enfant deux once again phones ahead to alert best friend Jody of the imminent arrival of the parental taxi service.

m.b.e.d: What do you mean you're not coming?

m.b.e.d: What do you mean you're not feeling well?

m.b.e.d: What's wrong with you?

m.b.e.d: Well none of us have those symptoms! I don't believe you.

m.b.e.d: We're coming to get you now.

m.b.e.d: We are two minutes away Jody, get ready!

m.b.e.d: We're pulling into your street now Jody!

m.b.e.d: OK we're outside your door now... OK let us in, that's us knocking!

Three teenage girls then open the door and let themselves in. Parental taxi service keeps the engine running as parked in wheel-clamping zone. Nothing happens for 5 minutes, then suddenly the front door opens and merci beaucoup enfant deux comes across the garden to the car with a cup of tea.

m.b.e.d: Mum, we're doing some jobs for Jody whilst she gets ready for the party, I'm making her little brother's tea, the others are cleaning up her room and finishing her physics homework, then we'll be out. Here's a cup of tea to keep you going...

On Spending Afternoons During Half Term, Lolling About On The Sofa Watching Movies

Each afternoon this week, merci beaucoup enfant deux and I have settled down on the sofas, turned off all the lights, lit the fire and watched DVDs together. Yesterday it was "Pride and Prejudice," with Matthew Macfadyen ("I love, love, love you..."), playing Everywoman's version of the perfect man to fall in love with.

This afternoon it was "Oh Brother Where Art Thou," with George Clooney, Everywoman's version of another perfect man to fall in love with. There's this great scene in "Oh Brother," when the convicts are on the run and gradually become surrounded by, by, what? Escaped lunatics? White-uniformed medics? What? And this song fills the screen, Alison Krauss' haunting acapella rendition of "Down in the River to Pray".

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1FQqSGxBso

I love the world wide web. And I love the British educational institution that is Half Term, the week/fortnight holiday mid-point in each of the three academic terms. The particular significance of this half term is that it marks roughly eighteen months before merci beaucoup enfant deux goes up to university. Long, long time away. But time will fly.

Last Spring's Wren's Nest

University Days, Great Days

"... So we all left the uni bar and walked back to Sophie's flat for their party. And half way across the quad she fell over taking two of the lads with her. At least they broke her fall, and they were a bit bladdered themselves so they fell all relaxed and didn't even spill a drop, never mind break anything.

"Then the girls started laughing and grabbed a bit of Sophie's collar and dragged her up the stairs into their flat, oh man it was like they were dragging a rag doll. Wouldn't listen to us lads, so we followed on behind, making sure they were safe, like, and sorting out something to eat. Effer got the orders for the pizzas organised and phoned them through whilst I held his pint.

"Then inside the flat Sophie'd recovered enough to open up the alki-pops. Wasn't long before she fell over again. Then all hell broke loose. The girls started screaming, "Get the men out. Get the men out!" like she'd been roofied. She hadn't been roofied, she'd had a dirty pint to celebrate her birthday at the start of the evening and then went on to alki-pops. Oh man it was so funny, pandemonium all the way. So we all went out and stood on the landing. Then Disco decided she needed an ambulance so started phoning 999 and was giving very complex instructions how to get to the flat before Effer pointed out he hadn't switched the phone on and who did he think he was talking to? Course Disco then got in a strop and started yelling "There's no credit on this phone," threw it in the corner and grabbed Phil's and started all over again, then threw that one away, "There's no F*****g credit on this one either!" He must have gone through most of our phones. Oh man he was so funny.

"Of course all the girls are sitting around Sophie crying and wailing "She's dying get an ambulance," and Sophie's lying flat on her back in the middle of all these girls blinking slowly and still holding her bottle. Then she throws up, and Disco goes hysterical on the phone, "She's vomiting blood now!" Only this time he's actually managed to get through to ambulance control, so spends the next 35 minutes negotiating with them about the seriousness of the vomit. And it wasn't blood it was red aftershock.

"So in the middle of all this bloody chaos a van pulls up and out steps the pizza dude with two 30" pizzas under his arm. By this time I'm feeling a bit peckish, so stroll over. "Look lads," he says, "I know you're in the middle of some heavy shit, but whose paying?" Disco was still on someone else's phone negotiating, the girls were still crying, so me and Jay split the bill and went up the stairs to the next landing and sat and ate the pizzas.

"Oh man, it was a great night."

Upon Horticultural Commissions

My favourite canuckie and I chatted this morning after months and months, picking up where we left off. Each chitchat begins with me smiling like a Cheshire cat, and then the mad scramble of fingers over keyboard as I try and keep pace with our friendship. And today we chatted about family, books, food scares, sustainability and children's gardens. What began with tomatoes and garlic ended with my first online children's horticultural commission! How wonderful for me to design and make suggestions for a little chick's gardening year!

Well Wrapped Up For Late Winter Gardening

I seem to have spent an extraordinary amount of my time this week shovelling shit - or rather creating a deep bed in the peach house for this year's Mediterranean beauties, and manuring the beds ready for this year's pumpkins and sweetcorn. It's spent mushroom compost mixed with stable manure, so has the not unattractive smell of horses combined with the fungoid pong of dark sheds and rotting wood. Crumbly, black and slightly damp, its texture is perfect. It just falls off the trailer into a huge pile on one of the beds, and from there its barrowed to the peach house and then the three other beds. (The bed set aside for root crops wont be manured, as we want fat luscious roots not green leafy top growth.)

Winter gardening should be done in layers - a couple of cotton camisoles, short-sleeved v-neck tee shirt tucked into trousers to keep your kidneys warm, sleeveless body warmer zipped up to neck, slightly too large fleece (for easy of upper body movement) zipped up to neck, woollen hat, heavy duty navy trousers to resist thorns, wind and water, and finally thick cotton socks in my beloved safety boots. After a few barrow loads, we were stripping off the fleeces, then hats, then body warmers; and at -1C we were shovelling in tee shirts, moving fast and fluidly on warmed muscles and the beautiful repetitive movement of experienced gardeners. When the head gardener came for a chat, on went all the layers as we stood about chatting and drinking coffee. The shallots and garlic have arrived together with the seed potatoes, but the ground is still frozen so they will wait in the glass house for the thaw.

And some red shallots were pickled following Delia's simple instructions; peel carefully, and cover with salt and leave to drain for 24 hours. Then wipe dry, and pack into jars adding a teaspoon of whole mixed pickling spices, then cover with malt vinegar. Seal and leave for one month before eating, and eat within three months. Perfect with late spring ploughman's lunches.

And last night I celebrated the end of my week without merci beaucoup enfant deux, who's away with the school doing sixth-former things. A couple of lamb steaks fried off in the ridged pan until a bit charred on the outside and pink in the middle, then handfuls of the tiniest button mushrooms dropped into the pan and given a good old shake about. Lamb removed to warm plate and half a tub of creme fraiche and lots of salt and black pepper added to the mushrooms and shaken about again to mix into a coffee coloured sauce. Lamb removed to plate of butterhead lettuce leaves, and mushroom sauce poured over. Yum yum in my tum. And lovely emails. Does life get any better than this?

Winter Pruning Top Fruit - Gooseberry Espaliers

Winter pruning the row of espalier trained gooseberries this week. I haven't mastered the art of operating Felcos whilst wearing gloves, so my right hand gradually froze as I progressed along the wires. The sun didn't clear the top of the wall until 11am, by which time I was half way along the row. As I might have disclosed in an earlier post, I'm a bit too enthusiastic when pruning, so to discover coral spot fungus Nectria cinnabarina, midpoint along the row was great - a chance to give the two affected gooseberries a really good old chop. Coral spot is spread by vast numbers of spores which enter plants through wounds caused by pruning or frost or storm damage. By the time the symptoms appear the wood is usually dead; coral spot can spread back to living tissue, though, causing dieback. If it enters the main trunk of susceptible plants they may well die. For this reason coral spot needs to be traced back along the branch / stem to clean wood, and then cut off and the prunings burnt.

"Coral spot is usually a weak parasite, and seldom becomes troublesome except on plants suffering from some debilitating condition such as drought stress or root disease, or on newly planted trees or shrubs that are not yet fully established. For this reason, if a plant is badly attacked by coral spot, the possibility of an underlying cause of this nature should be considered." RHS

These gooseberries have been in for well over a decade, and rather neglected in the past. This might well be the spur to digging the entire row out, and starting again with new young plants. And then I spotted the wren's nest, tucked in amongst the upper branches, a little splash of green moss against the grey wood. Too early for this year's birds, it's clearly been here since last spring, and I must have walked past it hundreds of times and not noticed. Delightful. Picture to follow.

Louis MacNeice, From BBC NI Learning

http://www.bbc.co.uk/northernireland/learning/getwritingni/wh_macneice.shtml

Louis MacNeice, Snow

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes -
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands -
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

http://steveandbecky.smugmug.com/keyword/pink/1/51920168#51920168

On Snow, British Snow

There are countries in the world where six-months snow-bound is a reality (continental weather systems, e.g. North America... Geography O Level). Here, cars are routinely fitted with snow chains, snow ploughs are as common as moose and airports continue to operate in 15' snow drifts. Because 15' snow drifts are a sign of the spring thaw and that it must therefore be the Calgary Stampede next week...

And then there's Britain. For the whole of this week we have been warned of Arctic conditions disabling the country on Thursday; that we must not travel unless it is absolutely vital (so work, school, shopping's no longer vital, then?); and that if we do dare to venture out we must pack a shovel, flask of hot coffee, enough chocolate biscuits to drown in, and a 13.5tog duvet into the car before reversing off the drive. What arrived today across Britain? Two inches of snow.

Return of Winter, At Last

The forecasted cold nights and early morning frosts delivered the goods this weekend. Up early and out into the garden just after 7am. I left my boots near the radiator overnight, and they were toasty warm... heavenly! Tea in one hand, slice of toast and marmite in the other, I stood on the terrace assessing the work that really couldn't be put off any longer. And then I went back inside for another round of toast, boiled the kettle again, put the laundry on, got something out of the freezer, scraped the ice off the windscreen (there's a couple of garden tables occupying half the garage), walked down to fetch the papers, walked back and chatted to the dog walkers, dropped the papers onto the dining room table, made another cup of tea, read some uni course work (beloved firstborn is home for the weekend), then stood once more on the terrace and let the steam from my tea curl up my nose.

And finally, at 7.45am, I got moving! Finished clearing the pond, then finished pruning the shrub roses; finished winter pruning a couple of apple trees; hacked the irritating top growth from my espalier pear; cleared a little patch of garden where I grew annuals last year; lost my balance climbing between terraces on slippy wooden sleepers trying to smell the winter flowering honeysuckle; dug up a rather revolting patch of nettles (tough luck red admirals) that invaded my cold north facing border last summer; and finally, finally, I cut back and tied in the climbing Mme Alfred Carriere thats been "settling in" to my fernery for three years and didn't put on a stick of growth until last year.

So there you have it. A relaxed weekend in the early winter garden.

February First: Here Comes Spring

Sunshine and cold. Clear skies overnight leading to early morning mist across the valleys; my perfect, early morning in late winter. Clattering out past the fern garden this morning I clocked the ivy overflowing its bucket, where it's been since last spring, a kind donation from one of my closest friends. "Oh and I've put in a few snowdrops for you, as they are best transplanted in the green," she said. And this morning I stopped to peer inside, and sure enough, one tiny white head, bobbing welcome to the spring. Merci beaucoup enfant deux has the camera today, hence the enclosed picture from the BBC Gardener's World website.