Looking back at entries across the year two themes strike me. It was a bad year for butterflies and a good year for flowers. Butterflies or lack of are a good indicator of how insects generally are doing.

 Spring and early summer were wet and cool, the period when many butterflies emerge. By all accounts there was a steep decline in sightings. Species that fly later in the summer like the Comma (above) appeared to fare a little better. 

 Then again I noticed many wildflowers and garden plants were vigorous; for example these Common Spotted Orchids seemed particularly tall and sturdy. No doubt they benefited from the rainfall in that regard but plants need pollinators. 

 As the name suggests Winter Heliotrope (Petasites fragrans) is one of the earliest wild flowers to bloom. Not native, an introduction from North Africa in the nineteenth century,

 Attractive in certain locations like here on the margin of a field next to a bypass. A pest where it's not welcome. It spreads by rhizomes and keeps on spreading including semi-shady areas. In shade it won't flower despite the carpet of foliage.

 The flowers have a vanilla/almond scent hence fragrans so it has its merits but not a species I would contemplate planting. In fact there is a garden where I have tried to eradicate it -without success.  

 Every Christmas I pull the vines of the Virginia Creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) off the side of the house. It's rampant rather than creeping and will put on similar growth next year.

 I shred them and the thought occurred to me that usually I make work for myself piling them up in a heap then having to untangle them. So this year I left them splayed along the garden path to feed in one by one -so much quicker and easier.

 I have read that Native Americans used the vines for basket weaving which makes sense as they are tough and sinewy.

 

 Long distance hiking and wild camping in challenging terrain was a regular pastime of mine. Not in recent years though I will do so again I'm sure.

 I have been reading Wendell Berry's essay "Getting Along with Nature" over Christmas, more than once in fact. Berry is an American writer and farmer now in his 90s and the essay is a meditation on the relationship between nature/wilderness and our human/industrial economy.

 He notes that "Pure nature, anyhow, is not good for humans to live in, and humans do not want to live in it for very long". Certainly the experience of wild places like Dartmoor (above) makes me realise why our ancient ancestors wanted to be warm and dry. Likewise the blazing heat and arid trails of California remind me of the benefits of being fed and watered.

 As Berry puts it: "Any exposure to the elements that lasts more than a few hours will remind us of the desirability of the basic human amenities: clothing, shelter, cooked food, the company of kinfolk and friends- perhaps even of hot baths and music and books".

 However he goes on to say "It is also true that a condition that is purely human is not good for people to live in, and people do not want to live for very long in it. Obviously, the more artificial a human environment becomes, the more the word 'natural' becomes important."

 He reflects that nature and wilderness and the industrial economy "sometimes sound as if they were two separate estates, radically different and radically divided". From that observation he expands on the necessity of finding continuity between them. I will return to this essay in future entries because it resonates with my own experience and many of the themes in this diary. 

 

 Habitats and habitation. The point is well made that gardens should have an 'untidy' corner for the benefit of wildlife. The massed gardens of town and city offer possibilities for biodiversity greater perhaps than many areas of our farmed countryside. 

 One such corner is shown above in the garden of the house I grew up in. In fact the whole garden is an untidy corner. Every Christmas I have a post-autumn tidy up by which I mean an 'untidying'. I rake leaves into heaps and make piles of cuttings. I do indeed prune and weed but the 'green waste' is not wasted by removing it from the place where it grew.

 There are formal gardens (often very attractive) and gardens that are completely neglected. I suspect that neither is best for biodiversity on a small scale. A combination of tending a garden and neglecting it may well be the most biodiverse if we break that word down into its component concepts: life and variability.

 The idea of 'wild gardening' has become popular although a contradiction in terms. An area that is gardened is not wild but it's possible to let the wild in. And there is what Wendell Berry has called "the teeming wilderness in the topsoil, in which worms, bacteria, and other wild creatures are carrying on the fundamental work of decomposition, hummus making, water storage, and drainage".

 

 Here comes the summer, part two. The days start getting longer after the Winter Solstice though it takes a while to notice any difference.

 Obligingly the sun shone today. I regularly walk over Windmill Hill in my hometown Hitchin. The view to the hills on the horizon is my barometer for what the weather has in store. I can report that today the outlook was was sunny but a biting cold wind was whipping in from the west so summer is not here quite yet.

 NB I rarely watch television but it was drawn to my attention recently that this view has been the subject of several BBC One 'idents' for a couple of years now. The brief clips with the BBC logo appear before programmes throughout the day corresponding to it being filmed morning, noon and night.

 I suppose Hitchin represents a kind of 'everytown' idea of an English town. The skyline has some old buildings, some new ones and the countryside lies beyond. I say English but the same idents are broadcast in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland though they do have a few towns and hills of their own. 

 

 Here comes the summer! We have passed the solar noon of the shortest day. 

 

 The hope of spring. I spotted this Primrose coming into flower amongst the leaf litter.

 

 I have walked along Tatmore Hills Lane a good many times. So it's familiar territory but I like the way a place or landscape reveals more about itself with each visit. Clearly it's an ancient track. Sunken lanes -sometimes called hollow lanes or hollaways- are invariably archaic.

 The lane meets a tarmac road at Sootfield Green. I passed by this spot recently (see entry 8th. Dec) and mused that "Green" in a place name sometimes referred to a clearing within a woodland. Sootfield Green lies between Wain Wood and West Wood. It seems reasonable to suppose that the various woods nearby are fragments of a much wider woodland that once existed.

 I thought of the walk from Wain to West Wood via Tatmore Hills in Bluebell season (see entry May 4th. 2023). Both woods are noted for their Bluebells and the hedgebanks along the lane are brimming with Bluebells and other woodland wildflowers. Notably there is a damp dell carpeted with Ramsons which are unusual round here (see entry 28th. April 2024).

 There are open fields on either side of the lane. I imagine they were formed by felling the surrounding tree cover centuries ago. It was common to retain a sliver of the original woodland to define the boundary rather than planting a hedge. That might explain the profusion of Bluebells, Ramsons and other woodlanders along the lane.

 Researching Sootfield Green I learned that Tatmore Hills Lane was once called Wayley Green Lane. A thousand years ago Welei was a community of around 60 people who farmed 240 acres hereabouts. Perhaps it was they who created the fields? Local historians have speculated that Welei meant "sacred grove" in Old English, possibly with the connotation that it was a grove sacred to heathens. It has been suggested the dell is the remnant of that grove. Such things precede any records so we may never know for sure. 

 I rambled this way today with a local walking group. I've been on their mailing list for a while but this is the first time I've joined them. I had just posted my entry about Sootfield Green when I received the mail that this was to be the meeting point of their walk so it seemed serendipitous. 

 The group has a particular interest in the flora and fauna of the area and pool their knowledge as they go. Always very interesting to chat with people who have their specialisms as well as general knowledge. We saw some great sights- ranging from a large Barn Owl in flight to tiny fungi on a branch. And it gave me another opportunity to ponder the history and mystery of Tatmore Hills Lane.   

Apricity

 Stinking Hellebore (Helleborus foetidus) in full flower a month or two earlier than usual.

 I often write about the botany and beauty of tending the gardens and grounds of the music school. In the interests of vérité I must note that today I had another task to perform: chucking out all the junk that's piled up by the shed over the years.

 Ostensibly there's not much to see at Sootfield Green. Basically a house on the road between Preston and Charlton in Hertfordshire. But it's marked on the OS map and is an ancient crossroads where the tarmacked road intersects with two lanes that are still muddy tracks.  

 Place names tell a story."Green" appears in so many place names in England. It might denote a village that has (or had) a green. Or it may convey another historical meaning: specifically, an area that was cleared within a woodland. Sootfield Green is now surrounded by large open fields. No doubt this whole stretch of countryside was once wooded. Some pockets of that extensive tree canopy still remain, for example Wain Wood is near here.

 The right fork as seen above also has a name that tells a story: Dead Woman's Lane. Evocative but it seems no-one really knows who she was or when she died. Directly behind me as I took this photo is Tatmore Hills Lane that was once called Wayley Green Lane. A local historian Philip Wray has written extensively on the history of the locality. He notes that "Almost a thousand years ago, Welie was a small community of around sixty souls near Preston". 

 He also quotes a reference from 1636 to "Sutefeild Green" and refers to a map of 1822 which shows Sutfield Wood close by, now a field. I had wondered if Sootfield might be connected to a practice such as charcoal burning but he states that -sut meant south in Old English.  

 

 The Pegsdon Hills in spring and Knocking Hoe in summer. I went for a walk yesterday and did my best to admire the bare trees, the fallow fields and the starkness of the landscape. But there was no getting away from it: we've reached that point of the year when it's cold, grey and bleak.

 I console myself with the thought that the wheel turns and spring will come. 

 Several stalwarts of the winter garden as planted by Jif at the music school. At the front of the border Stinking Hellebore (Helleborous foetidus). In the middle is Cornus sanguinea 'Midwinter Fire'. One of the Dogwoods it is green and leafy in summer with tiny white flowers but the bare stems in winter are what commends it to gardeners. At the back Mahonia x media is evergreen with bright yellow spikes of flowers that bloom from November onwards.

 As I noted recently H. foetidus is typically in flower January/February but seems to be much earlier in recent years in some locales... 

 

 A flinty field. I don't know if the conical pile is an artistic intervention or just a pile. Anyway, I picked up a flint and added it to the collection as I passed by.

 There are some mighty pines in and around the grounds of the music school. For example the one in the background of Thursday's photo must be a couple of hundred feet tall. It can be seen on the horizon from various viewpoints for miles around. 

 Actually it's in someone's front garden rather than the school grounds. The general area is known as Pinehill. I suspect most were planted when the house stood alone on top of the hill with fields sloping up to it. As mentioned in a previous entry it was commissioned by the Quaker botanist/pharmacist William Ransome who farmed the surrounding area. I imagine he instigated the planting of the numerous pines?

 Needless to say there is a considerable fall of needles and cones particularly in windy weather as recently. As with leaves they can lie where they fall on the beds but we sweep the tarmac and add them to the compost heaps. 

 In America 'pine straw mulch' is widely used as a compostable organic matter. They have a lot of it to compost I suppose. I used to have the idea that it might serve as an ericaceous compost since pine needles are somewhat acidic. Apparently it makes no difference to the soil PH.

 Curious fact. It's said that there are more giant redwoods planted in the UK than growing native in California: around half a million here as opposed to about 80,000 in the 'Redwood State'. Can that be true?