The Pegsdon Hills straddle the Herts/Beds border. I walked across them today under cloudy skies setting off from Hitchin, Hertfordshire. I followed the same route I took last week to Knocking Hoe [see entry dated 2nd. June] then carried along the Chiltern Way another mile or so which took me to Pegsdon.
 In fact the "county line" hereabouts is the Icknield Way, that ancient track between Wiltshire and the North Norfolk coast. It follows the chalk escarpment that encompasses the Berkshire Downs and the Chiltern Hills and passes over the Pegsdon Hills where it descends into the flatlands of East Anglia.

 Like Knocking Hoe the Pegsdon Hills are a surviving example of unimproved grassland. No doubt they owe their survival to the steepness of the terrain which makes it unsuitable for ploughing.

 I was always struck by a grainy photograph that used to be on display in Hitchin Museum dating from the late 1800s. The image is of a shepherd on the Pegsdon Hills and one imagines that he and the landscape wouldn't have looked have looked any different a century or two earlier.   

 I had almost forgotten how much I enjoy hiking across rugged terrain (and I certainly felt out of practice doing it!). There is some nice walking to be found in Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire but this range of hills looks and feels rather different. 

 I was reminded that I have often thought I should make a particular study of the flora here (and at Knocking and the nearby Barton Hills) because they are noted as being special places for common and uncommon wildflowers. Many rarities are to found that have been largely extinguished from the surrounding countryside which is intensively farmed.

 I made for the trig point which denotes the highest elevation for miles around. Interesting fact: these hills are a section of the watershed between the Thames Basin and the Wash. So on one side of this spot rainfall drains towards London and on the other side towards the north-west corner of East Anglia.

 As I sat down on the trig point to eat my sandwiches the sun broke through. I lingered awhile gazing towards the horizon then picked up the Icknield Way to take me homewards.

 Ticking off some of those jobs I've been meaning to do but haven't got round to. Months ago I made a new table top to replace one that had decayed and disintegrated; today I got round to fitting it.
 The base is an indestructible piece of Victorian cast iron. The new top is made of pine slats from a discarded futon base but hey, it works. Having completed the task I thought I'd better stress test the load bearing capacity by placing a glass of red wine on it.

 Bumblebees are descending on the Broad Beans. The smaller bees are able to crawl right into the flowers. As seen above larger bees start with the frontal approach. If that doesn't work they move to the side and the back. They are able to pierce the tube of the flower with their long tongues and suck out the nectar.

 The white flowered beans are the stalwart Victorian variety Bunyard's Exhibtion [see entry dated 5th. April 2020]. Growing among them are Crimson Flowered Broad Beans, another heritage variety that owes its survival to a lady called Rhoda Cutbush [see entry dated 5th. February 2019 ]. The bigger bumblebees have the same problem with these (and the same solution).
 The term for it is "nectar robbing". The nectar is the lure for bees to pollinate the flower by entering it thereby transferring pollen from one flower to another as they forage. That doesn't happen if they bypass the pollen in the flower by nectar robbing.
 Certainly sufficient pollination does take place because both varieties are good croppers. I have found in previous years that there is also a cross pollination between the white and the crimson resulting in a bean that grows into a hybrid form with creamy pink flowers.

 Dog Rose is a rather unlovely name for this lovely bloom. Rosa canina scrambles through hedges and thickets flowering profusely at this time of year.
 I have made the point several times in this diary that the Latin name of a plant generally isn't what a Roman would have called it. Botanical Latin is a scholarly taxonomy developed for the most part from the 18th. century onward, notably by the Swedish naturalist Carl Linnaeus.
 In this case however the title Rosa canina does indeed date back to classical Latin. A preparation from it was believed to cure the bite of a mad dog. Pliny the Elder knew it by this association when he wrote his Naturalis historia published in 77 A.D.

 Bumblebees get thirsty too. Water pooled on the lid of a compost bin on the allotment after a brief rain shower. As soon as the sun came out a considerable number of bumblebees started buzzing back and forth hydrating at this new oasis. The shallow indentation of the lid was just the right depth for them to alight and drink. On dry days I will get in the habit of splashing some water on it to make a bee bath.

 I mentioned Honey Garlic (Nectaroscordum siculum) in a recent entry [24th. May]. It blooms with a cluster of drooping bell shaped flowers that buzz with with bumblebees. When they have been pollinated the bells become pyramid shaped seed heads which raise themselves up to point to the sky.
 Speaking of bees they are loving the Sage (Salvia officinalis) on the allotment. One of the many things I appreciate about the allotment is the opportunity to grow sun loving plants. The garden is semi-shady all year round and gets shadier as the deciduous trees and shrubs come into leaf. This has led me to seek out species like Honey Garlic which tolerates a bit of shade (though not deep shade). Sage on the other hand is a classic Mediterranean herb. It doesn't need much watering much but it must have sun.

 Blackberries (Rubus fruticosus) are laden with flowers at this time of year. That's a colossal number of flowers given the amount of bramble out there which is great for pollinators. Case in point here is a butterfly (middle), a honey bee (bottom left) and a bumblebee (top right).