Nature Notes from Pete Lambert - December 2011

The kaleidoscope of autumn lasted for so long but finally the gold, yellows and reds mellowed into the muted tints of winter. The last few months have eased past with a seasonal drift of memory stirring moments. We exchanged a smile, a father and grandfather, I popping conkers into my jacket pockets, he filling a bulging carrier bag with the rotund glossy chestnut finds. I recalled that my own grandfather used to deliver  the same weighty bag of knuckle cracking globes. The largest I selected as potential champions, and then proceeded to eliminate  all chances of success by cork screwing the crudest hole for my bootlace!

 Little used curtains are brought into to service now, shutting out the cold dark and revealing snuggled queen wasps in their folds. One large specimen turned out to be a German wasp, one of about half a dozen social wasps found in Britain. Their delicate paper nests will disintegrate over the next few months, the numerous workers die and a solitary mated female will sit out the winter ready to initiate a new colony in the spring. Its wings were neatly folded longitudinally along it s body and as I studied the striping I noticed that between its large eyes were three tiny ocelli. Ocelli are very simple eyes and can be found on many members of the ant, wasp and bee order, the Hymenoptera. In fact I went back to the three red tailed bumble bees I have found in the yard, and though hard to see amongst the black hairs of the head there were the three ocelli. I had earlier tried to identify their  ‘pollen baskets’ mentioned in the guide book. Thinking that I would reveal  a wicker structure on the bees back, it took a while to realise that the two lines of in-curved hairs on the rear legs would do the job of carrying the important food source back home.

It was not only the wasp and bees making for shelter at this time of year, our much loved seven spot ladybird has been found in profusion. Snuggled into dry cavities, hollowed plant stems and potting shed frameworks, our ladybirds do like a bit of company for the long winter hibernation. The brightly coloured hemispherical beetles have short, retractable legs  and my favourite is the little Kidney spot ladybird with its black background and two crimson spots, found invariably but not exclusively in the forks of ash trees.

I have filled all the feeders, and joined the local network of feeding stations for the jumpy flocks of sparrow, goldfinch, chaffinch, coal, blue  and great tit, jackdaws, woodpeckers  and collared doves, eager to drop in at our back garden fuel stops. I still have not expanded my stock to include sunflower hearts and niger seed, but think I will, seems to work elsewhere in the village. We too are not immune to the visits of the sparrow hawk,  this time powering past the gap in the hedge. The song birds habit of forming large flocks is a deliberate attempt to counter this threat, extra safety gained by extra eyes, most of the times this works but sometimes a sacrifice is made.

We have a garden corner given over to lost pets and other creatures. The most recent internment being a song thrush, the size and dart patterning on its chest distinguishing it from its larger relative the Mistle thrush. The Mistle, alive and well turned up a few days later to feed on the holly berries and let us all know who owned the tree. Our winter thrush visitors are also in the neighbourhood, Redwings and Field fares have flown in from the continent, to now move around the rough grasslands of the area, noisy and distinctive. Lapwing are also about, a lovely wobbly winged group took to the air to flash their white ‘armpits’ at me as I flushed them from their wet sward just below the canal.

The weather remains mild and maybe the harsh freezes of the recent years might be avoided, all the same nature will do its best to sleep, eat and above all survive the stark challenge of a British winter. For us the logs are in, woollies pulled out from deeper recesses of the wardrobe and our boots are ready by the back door.

Happy wildlife spotting and seasons greetings,  Pete Lambert.
.
.
.