Seek beauty and - sometimes - ye shall find it

A few more piccies from the weekend in Hampshire, a bucolic county of rolling hills and beech hangars, sandy commons and lush hedgerows.

Under the brow of Butser Hill is a recreated Iron Age village, with a cluster of roundhouses built according to archaeological finds (you can just hear Tony Robinson getting excited about the post holes). The techniques required just to put up the rooves are impressive (take about 30 long poles in a star shape, bind them together and infill with spars and thatch).

There was a clump of woad which is used to test Julius Caesar's view that the Ancient Britons that he met at Kingsdown (well, maybe Walmer) in 55BC were painted blue with indigo woad dye. The skills required to dye cloth are on this site if anyone's keen on the style.

The largest colony of Narrow-leaved (Sword-leaved) Helleborines in Britain is in Chappetts Copse, near West Meon, and fortunately they bloom early - but not quite early enough this year for my visit. Thanks to Nigel J for the identification.

Tormentil

Hidden in the bluebells are two very young fawns, whose mother was disturbed by the close passing of walkers - going to investigate, my friends saw them up close - mother hopefully will have returned, to avoid a tearful Bambi end to the story.

And for another picture of beauty - did you ever see anything as lovely as this Dingley Dell?

Water violets in full bloom in two shallow ponds not far from houses, railway and motorway - may they survive and prosper.

Selbourne

"I well remember that dreadful winter of 1739-40, that cold north-east wind continued to blow through April and May...." wrote the Rev. Gilbert White in a letter to the Hon. Daines Barrington.

And the cold wind is still blowing, although one good day was had from the weekend, and I spent part of it kicking up leaves on Selbourne Hangar, looking for a needle in the proverbial - a small brown shoot in a dark brown wood.

We've been to The Wakes before, where the good parson spent his time investigating nature and writing advanced thoughts about it, and about birds in particular.... whether they migrate, what drives their behaviour, how many willow-wrens there are.... If only he could have met Charles Darwin working a century later.
So instead of visiting the house again, there was time to explore his village and its surroundings, including the Hangar, a hill covered in beech trees which give such shade that little can grow beneath. The new leaves shone fluorescently, but the woodland floor was dark.
But with a little fortune I found what I was looking for - a Bird's-nest Orchid.
Not very prepossessing - like a small shoot of asparagus blanched under a pot. The flowers had yet to open, but I think that will not change the plant much.
Also in and around the woods were plants that aren't seen in East Kent, despite being on chalk.

Crosswort

Sweet woodruff

A commotion of strange mewling calls made me look up at a hole in a beech tree, in time to see a large brown bird flying off - a buzzard or an owl? A similar noise from a nearby yew gave away the position of a ball of fluff and confirmed the parent's identity.
The parent flew again and perched - I wish it luck in dealing with the troublemaker in the yew.
Gilbert White wrote that "the young of a white-owl are not easily raised, as they want a constant supply of fresh mice: whereas the young of a brown owl will eat indiscriminately all that is brought; snails, rats, kittens, puppies, magpies, and any kind of carrion or offal'.

Ravens on the cliffs again

There I was, minding my own business taking photos of the first flowering of Hoary Stocks on the cliff edge, when there was a rude interruption.
The family of Ravens arrived, with an adult as centre of attention.
Two youngsters noisily pursued it, unsurprisingly in view of the bloody morsel that it held in its beak. (Clicking on the photo gives a closer view of the gruesome gobbet)
One young one remained on the cliff so presumably missed out this time, as I lost sight of the others.

Much better photos are on Phil's Kearsney blog.

This place is a tip

Yay, the sun's come out, so all's well with the world. Butterflies will flutter by, bees will buzz, plants will bloom - it's enough to make you become a sun-worshiper.
Before the sun deigned to appear, however, I took a trip to Fowlmead, that strangely-named coal mining spoil heap that has been turned into a country park. Well if the Welsh and the northerners can do it, why not us?


Vegetation is encroaching nicely now, but because there's very little soil it encourages mini-plants that are not crowded out by larger more invasive ones. Sheep's Sorrel is one such, spreading widely but nowhere more than a couple of inches tall.

Of course these tiny plants tax my identification skills, so I'll not guess but just enjoy them for themselves.


Another small plant that has spread profusely is the Early Forget-me-Not, giving a bluish tinge to much of the slag heap. There were plenty of birds about, although not within shooting distance - singing Reed and Sedge Warblers may have attracted a Cuckoo that called off and on as it staked out the reedbeds surrounding the heap; a pair of Turtle Doves flew over, and two female Wheatears patrolled the protected area in which a Lapwing displayed to his sitting mate.

That area is perfect for Stone Curlews - if only.

Elsewhere, clinging to a church wall was plenty of Ivy-leaved Toadflax, while adorning the graves were drifts of Speedwell - is this Ivy-leaved too, or Germander?

When there's no birds about, you've always got a friend - namely the faithful reliable Little Owl.

Minorities among majorities

One of the closest pieces of woodland to the village, Seven Acre Wood, has generally been ignored because of the stories told by Mrs K that she was warned away from it as a girl, because of the gypsies. There's none there now, and after a kind email from Graham (once of this parish) I had a look, and was pleasantly surprised.
Not only are there about 40 Early Purple Orchids to be found, but other interesting plants including Herb Paris.
The orchids show red in a sea of blue, under the oppressive canopy that is gradually closing in, shutting out the light.
On Park Gate Down, their are a few spikes standing in the open, surrounded by the yellow of Cowslips. There seems to be more symbiosis here, but the yellow is stunted and hunched, a poorer showing than was expected.

Lady Orchids are unfurling their buds into their distinctive flowers at Yockletts bank, though whoever first called them "Lady" was spinning a strange line.

I often overlook Twayblades, because of their green colour, diminutive size and quiet demeanour, but close up they have their charm. Every minority is important in its own way.

Cold wind stunts your growth

In the teeth of the cold north wind, I didn't expect to find anything interesting on a short walk on the cliffs above Dover's eastern docks. But there was an early Spider orchid, then another, and eventually I counted 40.
All very short, rarely over 2 inches high, sheltering from the chilling wind.I do like these orchids - each one has a distinctive character depending upon the 'face', 'arms' and 'body' which, being rather anthropomorphic are recognisable to our eyes.
This particular one seemed a cheery little chappie. A "Nick Clegg", if you will.
This one, by contrast, is stolid and serious, wearing a tweed jacket.
[Post script - there are seven ESOs on the rifle range at the mon=ment, downwind from last year's colony]

Yesterday I went on an organised walk (unusual for me to do this, but a good way of learning from experts) run by the White Cliffs Countryside Project, through the rarely-visited woods between Alkham and Lydden.
Early Purple Orchids were in flower, and belatedly carpets of Ransomes were just starting to bloom.
But the discovery of the day for me was .....
....Toothwort - just a small colony, sucking away at the roots of a hazel tree. One walker described the plant as feeling like potato buds, with a strange furry texture.

We encountered a large patch of Green Hellebore, which is a plant I've not seen in the wild, and sprigs of Bugle pretended to be blue orchids.