I've mentioned before that Virginia Creeper ramps up one side of the ancestral home every year. During the summer months it is a lush green then turns fiery red in autumn. 

 When the leaves drop in late autumn I cut through the stems at head height to prevent any further growth. Every Christmas I pull them down. They're still clingy but a good tug yanks them off. This annual chop and drop is essential; two years growth would be up and over the roof.

 The leaves I sweep up and dump in a wire enclosure to make leaf mould. They seem to decompose much quicker than tree leaves. The stems go through the shredder reducing them to a sackful of mulch. 

 Postscript In his book 'Creating a Forest Garden' Martin Crawford notes "The stems are a good basketry material". For me though it's time to get the shredder out.   

Fascinatingly fungal.

 In flower on Boxing Day. Common Gorse (Ulex europeus) has a long flowering season -typically January to June- but this is a bit early. Hard to imagine that this viciously spiky plant was widely used as a fodder crop for cattle and horses albeit crushed/mashed. 

 Roy Vickery's excellent Plant-Lore website includes a photo of a Gorse mill built in 1842 in Wales complete with water wheel. He notes that factory-made milling machines became available in the 1850s which were hand-operated or oil powered. Seems like Gorse is a renewable resource which has been largely forgotten.

Season's greetings to one and all.

 The sun shone through bright cloud as the day dawned. There was even some hazy blue sky later in the morning. It elevated my mood to feel the light on my skin and see it brighten the surroundings.

 I can appreciate why sun worship was probably the first religion. All life on the planet depends on the sun. The Earth biosphere is solar powered though one species is different from the rest. Humans burn combustible materials to fuel our civilisations which has good and bad consequences.

 Today however I stand with our ancient ancestors: praise be to the sun!

 The shortest day. I NEED SPRING! I enjoy autumn and usually I find the weeks before Christmas atmospheric in a nocturnal sort of a way. But this year I'm struggling; perhaps it's because we've had a long run of grey, grey days. I'm not especially tired, I'm not depressed, it's just I feel like I'm at a low ebb that will only lift when spring is in the air. Hopefully a bracing winter walk or two will be a cure.

 Anyway, today is the Solstice so the wheel turns and the days start getting longer... 

 As the year draws to a close the first bulbs are already starting to poke through the leaf litter. Well, in London at least; one of the milder parts of the country by virtue of being a 'heat bubble'. I think the metropolis is comparable to somewhere like Cornwall in the length of the growing season.

 The end of my back garden is carpeted with Snowdrops in late January/early February. They are Galanthus 'Sam Arnot' I think. This variety was sold by mail order in the fifties and sixties by the Giant Snowdrop Company which perhaps explains how they came to be here. There must now be a couple of thousand and I would think they have increased considerably from the original planting.

 Bulbs species multiply by offsets (i.e. bulbils that grow from buds on the mother bulb) and of course shed seed after flowering. I've read that Galanthus species do not set viable seed in UK conditions but I'm not so sure about that. The pattern of dispersal in my garden looks characteristic of self-seeding as well as 'clumping up'.

 The standard (and good) advice for planting bulbs is to plant them at a depth at least several times the height of the bulb or deeper in some cases. Nonetheless I notice that wild and naturalised bulbs sometimes grow much closer to the surface, even on top of the soil as seen with the Snowdrops in the photo. That makes sense if we consider that the seed falls to the ground and geminates on or near the surface. Over time the 'contractile roots' of a bulb will actually pull it down to its preferred depth.

 Then again bulbils often seem to push up to the surface. I wonder if that's because it makes the bulbils more likely to disperse from the mother bulb? Everything plants do serves some evolutionary purpose.  

 Last Sunday I went to a great gig at a great venue- the Brockwell Park Community Greenhouses in South London. From time to time they put on sessions of wild and wonderful music which they call (appropriately enough) 'Avant Garden'. 

 I'd arranged to meet some old friends of mine Neil and Kelsey who moved to Penznace about twenty years ago. I'm sorry to say we lost touch during that time and it was good to catch up. Indeed, Kelsey was one of the performers and played a selection of her beautiful nature-themed songs, mainly solo piano/vocals with a little help from her friends (and daughter).

 At one point she led the audience in a singalong about the joys of Red Valerian. This plant is the subject of quite a few entries in this diary but I never expected to be singing a song about it! The number of songs concerning Red Valerian is limited; in fact Kelsey's may well be the only one of the genre. Anyway, she sings of the Hummingbird Hawk-Moth and the Painted Lady on Red Valerian so here are photos of both these insects nectaring on that very species.

 If you want to listen to Kelsey's music check out her recent release 'Kelsey Michael Music of the Waves' which is available from an internet near you.

The wildflowers of spring and summer cheer my thoughts during these grey winter days.

 I think of Snake's Head Fritillary in Lammas flood meadow.

In my mind I wander through drifts of Bluebells in ancient woodlands.

 

 I picture Orchids on chalk hillsides.

 And always in my mind's eye there are pollinators.

 Very few flowers to photograph at this time of year but Mahonia x media comes into its own; cultivars like 'Winter Sun' and 'Charity' are widely planted. I don't detect any particular scent but bumblebees do and will come out of hibernation on milder days when they get a whiff of it.

 Sometimes the various Mahonia are referred to as 'Oregon Grape'. More accurately that is the common name of the lower growing and spring flowering M. aquifolium which hails from the Pacific Northwest of America. The ones that bloom in winter have Asiatic antecedents being accidental and deliberate crosses of M. japonica and M. lomariifolia (and perhaps M. bealei). Botanically speaking I should note that Mahonia is generally now classified as Berberis which is a larger genus.

 Looking more closely at the inflorescence of the one seen above it has the characteristics of a raceme i.e. a flower spike where the flowers grow and open from the base upwards.

Frosty morning in the lanes of Hertfordshire.

 Hedgehog habitat. I've read that hedgehogs will nest in piles of logs and leaves. My father had tree surgeons in to lop a Corsican Pine where it was overhanging a neighbouring property. There have always been hedgehogs round here so I thought the cuttings could be put to good use...

Beginning by stacking the spindlier branches with an entrance of sorts into the inner space.

 Then covered over with the trimmings.

 The remainder of the trimmings I simply laid in a heap at the base of the tree. The needle-like pine leaves might suit a spiky hog. Also made a log pile of the thicker sections of wood (see top right of the top photo). Whether for hedgehogs or not organic matter in varying states of decomposition teems with life from micro-organisms to mammals.

 I gather hedgehogs move quite freely between nests. They have both summer and winter nests which can be rudimentary for resting or denser for hibernating. I've never come across a nest but the colony seems to be thriving so they must be kipping somewhere... 

Winter has arrived with hard frost, freezing fog and dun colours.

Blue sky, bright sun...and very cold. 

 Sit spot. Further to my last entry I've been thinking about other places where I make a point of sitting or standing to look at the view and contemplate life in general. Another would be the pillbox on the edge of Swyre in Dorset looking towards West Bexington and the Chesel Beach. The roof makes an excellent vantage point.

 We holidayed near here when I was a child and I return to this spot whenever I visit this stretch of the coast. I suppose a convenient resting place with a vista makes an ideal sit spot. Then again it could be somewhere more secluded or anywhere where it's pleasant to pass the time and observe nature.

 Them thar hills. When I'm in my home town of Hitchin I generally make a point of walking over Windmill Hill to take in the view across the rooftops to the hills beyond. Hitchin is situated in a broad, low valley one side of which is formed by the edge of the Chilterns escarpment. This section is generally referred to as the 'Chilterns extension' but is part and parcel of that bulge of chalk that rises through a swathe of Southern England.

 The vista is always the same but always different. The novelty of being somewhere new can be interesting and exciting. Nonetheless there is value in seeing a familiar place change with the seasons, the weather and indeed with one's own moods. I don't meditate or practice 'mindfulness' but returning to a particular place is I suppose a form of mindful meditation.

 Permaculture uses the concept of a 'sit spot' to observe nature. Thinking about it I have a number of sit spots where I pause on various paths and places I return to. In London for example it is the park on the brow of Telegraph Hill at the top of my road. Not that one has to sit but just to be there is the thing.    

 Many of the trees are bare now but there is still plenty of autumn colour. We had good leaf growth this year due to a damp spring and July was rainy keeping the ground moist (unlike last year's prolonged heatwave). The autumnal months have been rather warm and wet extending the growing season. 

 The accumulation of sugars in leaves (through the action of chlorophyll/photosynthesis) is absorbed by the tree as winter dormancy approaches. Thus we have spectacular displays of those fiery reds and blazing yellows which turn to mottled browns as they fade. Even more so this year with the weather we've had.

 Thinking back on that walk over the Pegsdon Hills in September [see last entry] I was reminded of a couple of snaps that I meant to post at the time.

 These days the hills are managed for nature conservation and the grass is grazed by sheep with that in mind. Once the sheep would have been there for purely agricultural reasons. There is a photograph in Hitchin museum taken in the nineteenth century on these same hills. It shows a shepherd with his flock and he seems as remote to our time and place as discovering a lost tribe in the Amazon.

 As L.P. Hartley once put it "The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there". A noticeable trend in conservation management is to connect with the past by reintroducing historic breeds of livestock. I approached the hills through Hoo Bit nature reserve and the black sheep of the family were milling around:

 Now the nights have drawn in I find myself thinking of some of the walks I did on those long summer days. A particular locale comes to mind on my familiar stomping ground the Pegsdon Hills.

 One day in August I approached them via a slightly different route than usual which took me through the Hoo Bit nature reserve. The path opens out onto a wonderfully shimmering expanse of grassland which felt like some remote steppe or tundra.

 In fact this area is nestled between the folds of the Chilterns in Hertfordshire and the flatness of Bedfordshire. The lie of the land makes it feel removed from both. Here I felt separate from the crowds and hubbub of town and city. 

 I returned one early evening in September. The sun was low, ebbing towards twilight. The landscape seemed ethereal, otherworldly. I must return to the same spot if we have a cold winter to see it dusted with frost or covered in snow.   

 

Autumn has not yet given way to winter.

 The Mahonia x media cultivars have names like 'Winter Sunshine' with flowers (and bees) at the tail end of the year. Tough shrubs which cross the wild species M. lomariifolia and M. japonica. 

 

 Stinking Hellebore (Helleborus foetidus) flowers early but this is very early, or should that be very late? I would expect to see the lime green buds unfurling as soon as January but mid-November is well ahead of schedule. This clump is in sun but others in a shady woodland glade nearby are still dormant.

 The crops of summer are stubble now.

 A walk in the woods on a blustery day. The trees are in their autumn colours. These wintery winds will shake them bare in the days ahead. 

 Nice to be out though. Bright blue sky when I wandered through Wain Wood this afternoon. Low raking sun illuminated the woodland floor.

 

 An autumnal scene at the music school: evergreens, golden leaves and bare trees.

 Geranium macrorrhizum is sometimes referred to as Big-Root Cranesbill. This mat-forming species does indeed have what can be considered to be a big root/rhizome. Not sure if either description is entirely accurate because roots/rhizomes are subterranean. I separated several specimens from a large patch in another garden to replant in my own. Their long stems were mainly on the surface, more like stolons in that regard.

 Big-Root Cransebill is renowned as a tough plant that will grow in sun, part shade and full shade including dry shade. Most of the common varieties flower in hues of pink but the ones I liberated are G. macrorrhizum 'Album' which I particularly like. The flowers are white with the merest hint of pink. 

 G. macrorrhizum is native to Southeast Europe. There is also a pure white variety sold as 'White-Ness' which is said to originate on Mount Olympus no less. 

 Another transplant. I read somewhere that Stinking Hellebore (Helleborus foetidus) doesn't like root disturbance. Hopefully I got a big enough clump of the rootball to ease the transition.

 The Stinking Hellebore and the Stinking Iris don't stink but the foliage does smell a bit foetid if crushed.

 The bright berries of Stinking Iris (Iris foetidissima) glow in shady spots. They look succulent but they're toxic to humans. Birds eat them but my impression is they only do so if other food sources are scarce. Thus they add a splash of colour to the garden in the winter months. 

 Also a very common wild plant in woodland, hedgerows and scrub. One of two Irises native to the UK, the other being Yellow Flag Iris (Iris pseudacorus).

 It's that time of year. Spent the morning sweeping and raking soggy and scrunchy leaves at the music school. Lovely autumnal smell on a bright but chilly morning. Glorious.

We are the Village Green Preservation Society.

 The turf has been scalped in several large patches in the grassy areas adjoining Windmill Hill in the centre of Hitchin. Too large for flower beds in the conventional sense but I surmised the council must be intending to create 'meadows' by seeding with wildflowers. That was confirmed a few days later when I spotted a poster about the scheme.

 Removing the existing grass is generally a prerequisite for trying to create a meadow as most wildflower species cannot compete with the rye grasses used for amenity areas and lawns. Meadow grasses have a symbiotic relationship with the wildflowers that grow among them. And wonderful names too- Sweet Vernal Grass, Crested Dogstail, Chewing's Fescue, Yorkshire Fog et al.

 It's probably impossible to recreate an ancient turf even by using comparable species, that's why it's so important to hang on to the ones that remain. Nonetheless these contemporary meadows are a welcome trend. Typically certain vigorous plants tend to dominate to eye catching effect e.g. Ox-eye Daisy and Knapweeds. Case in point the music school has an area sowed with a native meadow mix (above).

Postscript...

 Ironically Windmill Hill has a wonderful display of Wild Clary on the steep banks where it borders the town centre. Well, it would be a wonderful display except it gets cut down most years before it flowers! Back in 2020 I walked across the hill and was taken aback to see a stunning haze of blue/purple. [see entry dated 14th. May of that year] The first lockdown meant that mowing operations were suspended and the Clary flourished.

 The banks are surely a survival from the days when the countryside extended right into the centre of Hitchin over Windmill Hill. I have written to the council to suggest their plans for the new meadows should include the proper management of the meadow that is already there.

 The autumnal sort out of the garden is a good time for transplanting. I planted Stinking Iris (Iris foetidissima) years ago and they have increased steadily over time. I carefully lifted several young ones which I replanted in another area.

 I also dug up some of the White Comfrey (Symphytum orientale) on the allotment to transfer to the garden. As I mentioned last week it has seeded itself into one of the beds resulting in some unintentional propagation. They too are young-ish plants but the long tap root is already well developed.