Photo Blog

I love observing nature through the changing seasons both in my Norfolk wildlife garden and the surrounding countryside. I blog about wildlife gardening as well as about Norfolk butterflies, wildflowers and other flora and fauna that I come across. Bookmark my Norfolk nature photo blog to keep up to date with my photographic adventures.

An Aberration!

A Small Tortoiseshell aberration semiichnusoides butterfly showing merged costal black spots and white marginal streaks instead of blue studs on the forewing and missing the orange band on the hindwings

Our hot late June summer weather didnt last too long, and perhaps could be deemed an aberration in its own right, but it also seems to have had a major impact on our caterpillars while they metamorphosed into butterflies.

I got curious when I spotted this unusually marked Small Tortoiseshell butterfly and discovered a strange world of genetics and temperature driven body chemistry!

It takes about 4 weeks for a caterpillar to metamorphose into an adult butterfly in a fascinating “black box” process that science still knows surprisingly little about.

The term for a butterfly with these atypical variations in markings is “an aberration”, which stems from the latin aberrationem, literally meaning “a wandering”. First used in the 1590s, the modern meaning of “a deviation from the normal type” is attested by 1735.

It turns out that both genetics and abnormal weather (and perhaps even the two in combination) can play a role in triggering these deviations. Aberrations are caused when something interrupts the usual pattern of markings during their development inside the butterfly’s chrysalis. One hypothesis is that sudden temperature “shocks” (in either direction) may trigger melanin release (a dark pigment) to increase or decrease.

Another possibility is the activation of rare inherited “recessive” DNA genes (a gene that requires both parents to have it to be activated) that are atypical because they hinder the chances of an individual finding a mate, or even surviving under normal conditions. They continue however to be carried in the population because they may perhaps aid survival in abnormal conditions.

One example of this is the better known aberration - the dark brown“Valezina” form of the Silver-washed fritillary quite often seen now at Holt at Foxley Woods. Valezina, due to its dark colouration is more able to fly and find nectar in unusually cool temperatures than its typical bright orange counterpart, but which may then be at a disadvantage when it comes to finding a mate and reproducing due to being less readily recognised.

Whether the sudden temperature change we saw at the end of June activated a dormant gene relating to surviving with abnormal weather or coincidentally acted directly on melanin production remains one of the fascinating mysteries of nature.

Small Tortoiseshell Aglais urticae (normal type) vs Small Tortoiseshell (aberration semiichnusoides). Both butterflies are likely to be siblings as they were hosted as caterpillars on my nettle bed and appeared fresh on the same day together.

Poppies, Poppies, Poppies

At last! Some beautiful, warm, sunny summery days.

Lately I've become totally obsessed by the fleeting, ephemeral nature of some beautiful red Common Poppies, Papaver rhoeas, that have sprung up by the new patio due to earth disturbance.

The Poppy’s flower buds burst open first thing but are so fleeting they only last a single morning. Their nectar banquet must be intense as pollinators such as bumblebees and hoverflies go wild over them.

Through the course of the morning the delicate Common Poppy petals steadily fold further and further back until they fall to the ground, or are knocked off by the weight of frantic bees trying to land. This all happens in the space of a few hours and by early afternoon the blooms are already gone, petals lying crumpled and shriveled up on the ground.

A Marauding Devil's Coach-horse

It seems Halloween came early to Nar Cottage this year, with the arrival of a maurading Devil's Coach-horse, and a poisonous Brown Roll-rim toadstool!

Devil's Coach-horse beetle, Ocypens olens

The Devil's Coach-horse, Ocypus olens or Staphylinus olens, is the largest of the Staphylinidae or Rove family of beetles, unsurprisingly so-called because they are always on the move. This is the largest beetle family with around 63,000 species worldwide and 1000 in the UK, making up roughly 25% of British species.

Devil’s Coach-horses are common and widespread in the UK. They are native to the UK and Europe, but introduced to parts of Australasia and America. I remember them being called a Devil’s footman in my childhood, one of many alternative names for them, but the main English name of Devil’s Coach-horse name has been firmly in use since 1840.

Although generally nocturnal, they can sometimes be seen during the day hunting for food and, due to their large size (they can grow up to almost 3cm) and striking appearance are very hard to miss! They reproduce in autumn, so it's very possible this individual was busy seeking a mate.

Their appearance is undeniably eerie, they have disproportionately large powerful mandibles for their size, an elongated jet black body and a shortened wing-case. Although they can actually still fly they rarely do so, preferring to hunt on foot. You could certainly imagine them in a fairy tale playing the role of sinister Coach-horses pulling along a fantastical evil overlord in a dark alternative to Cinderella's pumpkin-chariot.

They are indeed ferocious predators, hunting slugs, caterpillars, worms, spiders, woodlice, other invertebrates and carrion. They prefer damp places and will shelter under rocks, logs or leaf litter during the day. The female lays eggs singly in Autumn under damp moss or leaves. The resulting larvae are as carnivorous as their parents and grow through 3 instar (larval stages) over 150 days before pupating and emerging just over a month later in adults form. Devil’s Coach-horses are largely active April through to October. Adults overwinter either by staying active or by hibernating and can live up to two years.

Aggressive “Scorpion-like” Defensive Posture

They have a deservedly pugnacious reputation, mine was right out in the open in broad daylight marching around fearlessly. They are notorious for curling up their abdomen and opening their mandibles in an agressive, scorpion-like defense pose when threatened, presumably to appear large and threatening, as they aren't actually venomous and don't have a sting.

When threatened, the Devil's Coach-horse beetle, Ocypens olens, arches its abdomen in a "Scorpion" style defensive posture, opens its jaws and secretes a foul liquid from its glands

Another defense mechanism is the ability to emit a noxious substance from white glands on their abdomen, which the second half of their binomial name, olens, meaning "smelling", alludes to. If further threatened, their strong jaws can also give a nasty nip.

Devil’s Coach-horse in Folklore

They've been associated with magic, evil forces and the Devil in British superstition and folklore since mediaeval times. One theory is that the name developed in parallel with Ladybird (derived from Our Lady, referring to the biblical Mary) and was established by 1840. Other English names include Devil's coachman or footman and Devil's steed. In Irish they are called "Darbh-daol" devil's beetle and "Coffin cutter". There are a host of dark folklore superstitions surrounding Devil’s Coach-horses, which hasn't exactly helped their reputation.

In some superstitions, as well as being directly associated with the devil himself, they are purported to have eaten the core of Eve's apple and to even have acted as a kind of beetle form of Judas Iscariot and have arched its abdomen to point the way Jesus went during his betrayal. They were also believed to be endowed with magical powers and that when they arched their tail towards someone they were cursing them.

In Ireland it was even believed the beetle could strike a person dead on sight and would eat any sinners they came across. Sadly as a consequence some superstitions rewarded killing them. Although some scythers would put one in their scythe handles to improve their skill (or perhaps speed given their nasty bite!).

Gardening Value of the Devil’s Coach-horse Beetle

Despite their fearsome appearance and agressive defensive mechansims, they do get an unfairly bad rap. Devil's Coach-horses are in fact highly valuable insects to have in the garden and act as a “Gardener’s friend” by hunting garden pests like slugs and caterpillars. In fact one of the Devil’s Coach-horse’s smaller cousins in the Rove beetle family, Atheta coriaria, is even used commercially as a form of biological pest control against certain greenhouse insect pests, including fungus gnats, shore flies and thrips.

Wildlife Value of the Devil’s Coach-horse Beetle

Through their role as a dominant predator species in their niche, they provide eco-system benefits by keeping populations of potential pest species in check naturally, in addition they consume carrion and ensure that nutrients are recycled and returned to the soil.

Brown Roll-rim Mushroom

Gills of a mature Brown roll-rim mushroom, Paxillus involutus

As if that wasnt spooky enough, a large area of my garden surrounding my Birch trees has been beset by the fruiting bodies of what turned out to be a poisonous toadstool called the Brown Roll-rim.

Apparently it is notorious for being particularly treacherous. Originally boiling them was thought to remove all toxins and make them safe to eat, but it was later discovered that the mushroom held a second toxin that build up over a long time and then suddenly kill you by triggering an auto-immune reaction that causes the body to attack its own blood cells. Definitely not one for the pot!

A Killer Digger

One interesting spot I made this summer on my Sea holly was this Ornate Tailed Digger Wasp, Cerceris rybyensis. A first for me and I'd initially thought it a Sawfly or Ichneumon wasp. This tiny wasp hunts small to medium sized bees which are (unfortunately for the poor bees) paralysed by their sting.

That may explain the goodly number of dead bees I noticed and wondered about in late spring and early summer. The females nest in compacted bare ground, sometimes in desnse groups, which also makes sense as there is an area with bare earth from my building work that I deliberately left this season after seeing all the bee (and presumably wasp) burrows.

Ornate Tailed Digger Wasp, Cerceris rybyensis, on Sea Holly, Eryngium planum.

Cerceris rybyensis, Ornate tailed Digger Wasp in profile.

Ornate Tailed Digger Wasp, Cerceris rybyensis top view showing the distinctive, notched yellow band.

An Early Autumn

After a lacklustre summer, it seemed Autumn was all too eager to get started and arrived right on cue. Even as the calendar clocked over into September, the temperatures fell and clouds and stormy rain appeared. But as always September also brought some bright mild sunny days later on in the month to enjoy.

One of my favourite things about this time of year is watching late Common and Ruddy darter dragonflies doing aerial battle and, once paired up, ovipositing over the pond backlit by that soft, hazy golden autumnal sunshine filled with gossamer spider parachutes. This year was no exception and it seems too that the early spring pond work finally bore fruit as at long last I spotted a Southern Hawker female ovipositing amongst the bulrush roots.

Dragonflies are supremely resilielnt and one of nature’s evolutionary survivors. However uncertain and chaotic things may seem, I find it somehow reassuring to observe dragonflies knowing that they have been on this planet for over 300 million years, predating both dinosaurs and birds, and have survived millenia of change.

Common Darter dragonfly stretching out in the autumn sunshine perched on flowering Purple loosestrife

A female Southern Hawker dragonfly ovipositing amongst Bulrush roots, hopefully a seal of approval for the spring declutter work

Ruddy Darter dragonfly basking on a reed

Long-winged Cone-head

Long-winged Cone-heads use a liquid bubble to regulate their body temperature on hot days

Thanks to Pinocchio I’m embarrassed to admit I had always naively assumed there were as a rule green grasshoppers and beige crickets. Of course in the insect world its never that simple as this striking creature that took up residence on one of my bulrushes reminded me.

The first day I spotted her I assumed she had had a lucky escape from the pond and wound up on the Bullrush accidentally after leaping away from a predator. But I became curious when I saw her the second day running so started rummaging around in field guids to find out what she was and what she was carrying.

It transpired that she was a female Long-winged Cone-head, or Conocephalus discolor ( also Conocephalus fuscus). Cone-head sounds a bit like an insult but it refers to the angled shape of the species’ head. There are several species of Cone-heads in the Bush-cricket family, all of which are omnivorous, have long antennae and the females carry long blade-like ovipositors. Long-winged Cone-heads are distributed in Southern England and East Anglia living in dry and damp grasslands.

I wondered at first whether the droplet was perhaps an egg bubble but apparently Cone-heads blow out globules of liquid which is used as a means to keep cool and control body temperature on hot days. The females only have one brood a year and chew a hole in hollow stems of reeds or rush, then insert their eggs using their long ovipositor.

According to Wikipedia, high population densities can also encourage the development of an extra-long winged morph which has aided the species’ ability to expand into new favourable habitat as the climate has warmed.


Tenth Green Damselfly

Female Banded Demoiselle, Calopteryx splendens, perched on Common Knapweed

How time flies, I had a whole series of late spring early summer blog posts planned to write, got waylaid and now suddenly its midsummer already! Although this image is an imperfect “grab” shot rather than a nature study, I just had to share it because it is exciting news for our wildlife pond..

Last year I blogged about the nine damselfly and dragonfly species my widllife pond had attracted as it evolved over its six years and speculated that might be the maximum a relatively small pond like mine could achieve due to the way pond habitat changes.

Then unexpectedly on 5th July I spotted this iridescent green female Banded Demoiselle damselfly, grandly named Calopteryx splendens, its vivid emerald green contrasting beautifully against the deep purple of the Common Knapweed flowers it was perched amongst.

She represents the tenth species to have visited our Wildlife pond and garden. Not all consecutively of course, and some will never return'; we've learned that ponds evolve over time naturally to gradually fill in, undergoing an inevitable acidification in the process, which some species can’t tolerate.

The male Banded Demoiselles are blue with a clear blue band across the forewings so she definitely is a female. The species is easily confused with the Beautiful Demoiselle, Calopteryx virgo, but that species is a species of fast-flowing rivers and isn’t resident in Norfolk. In contrast Banded Demoiselles prefer slow flowing watercourses with a muddy bottom. There’s plenty of debris in mine with all our surrounding vegetation so I wonder if she was eyeing up our pond for ovipositing. Only time will tell…

Red, White and err, Pink!

As world cup fever gripped the Nation and England reached the football semi-finals for the first time in decades, and Brexit negotiations seemingly reached an even more parlous state of play, I was instead becoming fascinated by my new moth trap, and the amazing moths being attracted to the lights... 

A White Satin moth, Leucoma salicis, perched on the reflective moth trap lid

Pink: One of a dozen Elephant Hawkmoths, Deilephila elpenor, attracted to my twin actinic skinner moth trap

Laying the Ghost of Iris to Rest

Purple Emperor's caterpillar host plant is the Willow tree family. It prefers the Common Sallow (Grey Willow, Salix Cinerea) but will also use Great Sallow (Goat Willow, Salix Caprea) and Crack Willow (Salix fragilis)

In last July's blog I wrote of my bitter disappointment at my foiled attempt to see the most celebrated British butterfly, the Purple Emperor, while discovering that, in the famous words of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, "there's no place like home".

To rub salt into the wound, 2017 proved to be an amazing season for Apatura iris and a particularly bad year to be benched. Right as my blog was published, Purple Emperors were, remarkably, seen for the first time in the Sheringham/Beeston area on the North Norfolk coast. They will need to be recorded for five consecutive years however to be classed a Norfolk resident.

I spent the year conserving my energy and biding my time, yet all the while the memory of the trip I hadn't made to see the King of butterflies in a peak season linged in the recesses of my mind, surfacing occasionally to niggle away at me. His majesty had ensnared me after all, at least a little.

Come late June and I had some leave left at work. The timing looked on paper to be perfect, but after a bumper year last year, I fretted that the early super-cold snap might have affected them. What if the population had collapsed, or this year's weather proved unfavourable?

White Admirals look similar to Purple Emperors but are smaller, lack the orange markings and purple iridescence

My first week off was an anti-climax, dry but coolish, windy and unsettled. No reports showed and I felt fidgety, restless and frustrated, fearing that my timing was off and I would have another run of bad butterfly luck.

Suddenly the temperatures rose, the long predicted heatwave actually appeared and reports started to trickle in. I grasped my last chance to take the trip and headed towards a less visited Wood in Northamptonshire, close to the Purple Emperor's stronghold at Fermyn Woods.

I experienced butterflies of the tummy variety as I drove up the deserted, deeply rutted dusty track at my destination. I'd been running a little late and the temperatures were soaring. Emperors are notoriously active in the afternoons and apparently once charged up rarely come down from the canopies. Was I already too late?

As I got out of my car my spirits lifted. A large black and white butterfly immediately swept past the car door zooming along, low above the ground at a high rate of knots. Could it be that easy? Had I already seen my target? Was it a female Purple Emperor or the smaller also black and White Admiral? I'm not sure I will ever be certain whether that was really my first sighting. The flight was fast and powerful, though I definitely didnt catch a flash of purple.

Nonetheless it proved a good omen, as I had barely entered fifty yards into the woods when I found an elderly Black Hairstreak and an unusually confiding White Admiral basking by the side of the path.

Just a few yards further on I suddenly spotted a fellow Emperor hunter photographing a sizeable butterfly "puddling" (taking up salts from mud) on the ground. The richly marked russet-orange underwings were unmistakeable - this was was no White Admiral!

Female Purple Emperor, lacking the purple iridescence, perched on a Sallow branch feeding on aphid honeydew

Purple Emperors also take in trace salts from the ground, animal droppings and other pungent substances, a behaviour known as "mud-puddling"

The Purple Emperor continued  to probe the ground with its proboscis, wings stubbornly closed, for some minutes. Then suddenly it snapped its wings open vigorously, catching the sun's rays.

The light glanced off the Purple Emperor's wings obliquely and a flash of iridescent purple appeared from nowhere. His Majesty resplendent in his imperial cloak. Just as quickly the sparkling colour vanished and reverted to black as the butterfly rotated further round towards the sun. Mission accomplished.

The Purple Emperor's iridescence is only visible at certain angles to the sun's rays

For around an hour or so the Purple Emperor and at least one Purple Empress wafted up and down the track in their finery, alternately mud-puddling and looping up high in a figure of eight around what seemed to be a pair of "Master" trees, one an Oak, one a Common Sallow.  I was also treated to the sight of a female Purple Emperor perched up in the more attractive setting of a Sallow tree, apparently feeding on honeydew. Shortly after one o'clock I enjoyed my last figure of eight looping fly past and both I and his Majesty parted ways and headed off to attend to the rest of the day's business.

It all seemed so strangely easy in the end that I actually felt a little nonplussed. Why all the fuss, I wondered? Wasn't Iris famously elusive? Where was the challenge, the mystery?  Maybe there was none and my scientific research had paid off, maybe I had simply been lucky or maybe, just maybe, fickle fate had at last taken pity on me and requested Iris to grace me with his royal presence in a random act of kindness.

Whatever the answer, I drove home at peace, with the ghost of the Purple Emperor past of 2017 that had never been seen, well and truly laid to rest.

Purple Emperor "mud-puddling" with its wings open

 

 

Seeing Red

I spent a gorgeous bank holiday weekend pottering around our wildlife pond, watching the Azure damselflies wafting about in pairs and aerial dragonfly wars between the powder blue Broad-bodied Chaser and custard yellow Four-spotted Chaser dragonflies to rival any aeroplane dogfight as each fiercely competed for territory.

Suddenly among all the vivid blue Azures I quite literally saw red, that is, a pair of red mating damselflies! It was another first for Nar Cottage pond as they proved to be Britain's Large Red Damselfly (Pyrrhosoma nymphula). Flying earlier than its cousin the Small Red Damselfly (Ceriagrion tenellum), it can also be distinguished by its black legs and strongly striped antehumeral markings.

This photo marks the ninth species of Odonata (dragonflies and damselfles) recorded in our wildlife pond (more on that here) and not bad for a pond thats only five seasons old...

Smoothly Enters the Newt

A surprising number of tadpoles survived this year's late snow and frosts to hatch out, proving that nature has long coped with such seasonal extremes. Once hatched, a tadpole's lot does not get easier by any means, because along with the warmth, their nemesis the Common newts have returned.

Common newts, also known as Smooth newts, predate heavily on tadpoles and frogspawn in springtime, and male Common newts can be spotted due to their vivid orange and black spotted underbelly which is a temporary colouring worn during the mating season.

Male Common or Smooth newt in orange mating colours

Common newt hunting among newly hatched tadpoles

Rhapsody in Blue

Buff-tailed bumble bee foraging among Viper's-bugloss flowers

One of the deep joys of wildlife gardening is when an idea comes together and a wildflower you've planted really takes off... and brings even more nature into your garden. That is exactly what happened this year with an experimental planting of a local native wildflower, Viper's-bugloss or Echium vulgare. 

Viper's-bugloss growing wild on Kelling Heath in Norfolk

A member of the Borage plant family Boraginaceae, Viper's-bugloss is renowned for having a high wildlife value due to its flower's rapid nectar refill rate. This makes it a magnet for numerous species of bees, hoverflies, butterflies and other insects, which will revisit it at regular intervals throughout the day. It is also a caterpillar host plant for the glamorous Painted Lady butterfly and Golden Twin-spot moth. 

A tough, bristly and flamboyant biennial, Viper's-bugloss is commonly found in dry chalky grassland and heaths and along coastal cliffs and sand dunes. I first saw this striking plant growing in the wild locally in 2015. It was at Kelling Heath, a lowland heath reserve not far from the North Norfolk coast, and I'd been on a foray to see the diminutive Silver-studded blue butterflies resident on the nature reserve.

I was returning to the car park after a successful mission when I spotted it and recognised the tall flower spike heavy with lilac blue flowers at first glance, even though I'd never seen one before. The bell-shaped open-rimmed flowers had vivid pink trailing stamens, and was besieged by a host of argumentative bees, butterflies and other insects all competing for the rich nectar source.

Like most native wildflowers, Viper's-bugloss is embedded in traditional herblore, with around a dozen common names in existence, many of which, like Adderwort, Snake flower or Viper's herb, contain serpentine references.

The precise origins of its common name are unclear, possibly relating to the snake's-head form of the seed pods mentioned by 17th Century herbalist Nicholas Culpeper, “After the flowers are fallen, the seeds growing to be ripe, are blackish, cornered and pointed somewhat like the head of a viper.” Other theories include a comparison of the mottled leaves to snakeskin, or perhaps an allusion to the bite-like irritation caused by contact with the plants sharp bristles or its poisonous characteristics when ingested. 

Bumble bee nectaring on Viper's-bugloss flowers

Perhaps because of these serpentine associations,  Viper's-bugloss was traditionally used in herblore as an anti-venom for snake bites.The first documented herballist recommendation dates as far back as the first century AD and was made by a Greek Physician called Pedanius Dioscorides in a work called De Materia Medica.  Even the species name Echium is derived from "Echis", the Greek for "Viper".

However the term "Bugloss" used in many of our English common names is actually a reference to the ox-tongue shape and texture of its leaves and originates from the Greek word "bou" (a cow or ox) and the Latin "glosso" (tongue).

Meanwhile I had long been pondering a horticultural problem in my wildlife garden at home. I was keen to add more wildlife friendly flowers closer to the house and enrich diversity as the garden was starting to mature, but was stumped with a problem area where next to nothing would grow.

Bee flying towards Viper's-bugloss flower spikes

Despite our landscaper's best endeavours, not all of the poorest soil had ended up in the right place, our designated wildlfower meadow area. Some of it had ended up adjoining the bungalow and patio edge right at the top of the rear garden. Here the south facing slope was arid , in full sun all day long and only the relentless couch grass was flourishing.

So I turned to natives I'd seen locally thriving in sandy arid conditions for a solution and bought a small Echium Vulgare plug from Glandford Wildflower Centre just outside Holt. I planted it alongside Common Century, Teasel, Red Valerian and Common Rock Rose, next to a humongous self-sown Common Mallow, which had given me the inspiration, in order to create a bee-friendly wildflower border of sorts. 

Very little happened last year and my husband was sceptical. But Viper's-bugloss is known for growing deep roots and this year - success! The Echium developed numerous flower spikes and is even out competing both the Common century and Red valerian.

This weekend the month has earned its title of "Flaming June". In the sweltering 33 degree heat,  I couldn't face venturing outside my garden gates. Towards the end of a long, sweltering afternoon, as the worst of the heat started to cool, I stood on our patio and enjoyed the constant humming of dozens of bumble bees as they methodically worked their way up each spike in turn, checking which flowers had refilled with nectar.

 

"With the buzzing of the bee,
And the glowing of the bugloss,
High Summer is here"
 
 
Bumble bee landing on vipers bugloss flower to nectar-2.jpg

Names for Echium Vulgare  

Bluebottle
Blue devil
Blue thistle
Blueweed
Bugloss
Cat's tail
Ironweed
Patterson's curse (Australian)
Our Saviour's Flannel
Snake flower
Viper's-bugloss
Viper's grass
Viper's herb

The Snowdrop And The Honeybee

An early worker honeybee gathers nectar from a Common Snowdrop, Galanthus nivalis

The sight of this little Honeybee gratefully nectaring among the first of our Snowdrops in a local reserve made me curious about this humble little late winter flower and I discovered it had a surprising and fascinating history.

Gardening Value of Snowdrops

By February we are all utterly weary of winter's leaden skies and lashing storms and desperately seeking those first subtle signs of spring, so it comes as no surprise that Common Snowdrops, or February's Fairmaid as they are sometimes called, are such popular flowers and a staple in British gardens. It is a heavy heart indeed that could not be lifted by the sight of a milky white snowdrop flower head as it nods cheerily in the soft sunlight of a mild winter's day, or bravely peering through a late winter snowfall to earn their French name of "Pierce-neige" or Snow Piercer.  

Snowdrops favour damp woodland and stream side habitats

There are about 20 species of Galanthus in all, with the name Galanthus nivalis stemming from the Greek gala and anthus "Milky flower" and the Latin nivalis meaning "Snow".

It spreads primarily by bulb division into a dense white carpet which can form uplifting winter displays and many parks and gardens where it is long established, such as West Lexham Estate and Walsingham Abbey in Norfolk, open annually to allow visitors to enjoy their beautiful displays.

Wildlife Value of Snowdrops

For our over-wintering wildlife, the sight of a Common Snowdrop is undoubtedly very lucky indeed and a massive boon at a time of great hardship and need. Their flowers provide a desperately needed source of nectar and pollen for early insects such as queen and solitary bees emerging from hibernation, as well as beetles and flies.

In addition, their seedpods, which contain protein-rich elaiosomes, are taken by ants and fed to their larvae in undergrouund tunnels. By so doing, the ants complete the circle of life by helping the Snowdrop plant’s seeds disperse and start new colonies nearby.

Is the Snowdrop a Native Flower?

Fond of damp woodland and watercourses, many people mistakenly believe that the Common Snowdrop is truly native to Britain or introduced in Roman times, as did I until I researched this article. In fact, Snowdrops were first recorded in John Gerard's 1597 edition of "Great Herball" and they were documented in the wild only in the late 1770's. It is now believed Galanthus nivalis were first introduced into gardens in the late 1500's from Europe, where their range spreads from the Pyrennees in the West to the Ukraine in the East.

The "Flower of Hope" grew in popularity around the time of the Crimean War (1853-1856) when many soldiers returned bringing with them a new larger variety of the spring bulb, Galanthus plicatus, the Crimean Snowdrop, which they had seen bravely covering the battlefields through the harsh Crimean winters to inspire hope and augur spring.

Our love affair with these delicate yet incredibly tough spring flowers continued to grow over the years and today Snowdrops are one of the most widely traded bulbs in the world.

Snowdrops' many folklore names symbolise hope, renewal and death

Plant Folklore of Snowdrops

Its long, rich history in Europe and the UK means the humble Snowdrop is well established in folklore, literature and religion. The Snowdrop has strong Ecclesiastical associations which is indicated in some of its alternative names such as Candlemas Bells, Mary's Taper and Eve's Tears.  

The snowdrop is a flower of contradictions. On the one hand, for Catholics Snowdrops symbolise hope and purity. Snowdrop garlands were traditionally used in the Candlemas procession on 2nd February celebrating the Purification of the Virgin Mary, which is one reason why they are so widespread along traditional routes to village churches.

Yet at the same time snowdrops have a darker side to their folklore history. Perhaps owing to the flower's white shroud-like petals, Snowdrops have long been associated with death and bad luck. In ancient Greek mythology Persephone or Kore, Queen of the Underworld and the goddess of vegetation, is said to have carried Snowdrops on her return from Hades in Spring. The snowdrops she carried brought back life to a barren, wintery landscape, but also carried strong negative connotations of the Underworld they came from. 

Snowdrops spread by bulb division but ants assist seed dispersal

Also called Death's Flower, the Snowdrop became associated with death for many Victorians. According to superstition, seeing a lone Snowdrop was perceived as a portent of death and it was also meant to be unlucky to bring the first Snowdrop flower of the season inside a house.

Whatever their origins and mythology, Snowdrops hold a deep and enduring place in our psyche, inspiring hope and signalling that Spring is, at last, not far off. In Tennyson’s words “Many, many welcomes, February’s fair-maid”.

“The Snowdrop

Many, many welcomes,
February fair-maid,
Ever as of old time,
Solitary firstling,
Coming in the cold time,
Prophet of the gay time,
Prophet of the May time,
Prophet of the roses,
Many, many welcomes,
February fair-maid!”
— Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

Autumn Colours and Changing Clocks

Autumn seems to get later and later each year, perhaps a sign of the times in these days of global warming. The leaves here in Norfolk are only just colouring up, so to capture the mood of autumn here is a shot from my garden instead. It's a wild carrot seed head photographed against a backdrop of autumn flowering pink sedum in my butterfly and bee flower garden in gorgeous soft golden light we had yesterday afternoon before the clock change.

Silver Sea Lavender Skies

Sometimes muted grey skies can be a blessing in disguise, as was the case with this shot. High contrast full summer light can be tricky to contend with during the day. This soft pastel palette of sea lavender in Holkham bay was only possible thanks to some heavy leaden grey cloud skies creating soft even light conditions. Taken with the new Olympus 300mm pro-lens.

Of Red Admirals and Queen Anne's Lace

A slightly bizarre blog post title, I know. The connection is that these were the first two subjects that I photographed with the newly launched Olympus 300mm f4.0 pro lens. In old money that gives an effective reach equivalent to some 600mm, a wildlife photographers dream lens. But I wondered if a bokeh was possible, whether the images would really be as sharp as Olympus claimed, and whether the lens might be suitable for long lens macro photography.

Some pretty wild carrot flower seedheads, known as Queen Anne's lace, were my first attempted subject. Immediately I took the lens cap off I had a nasty shock. The lens simply wouldn't focus. The focus point refused to stay still, it bouncedaround lly all over the place. Feeling deflated and not a little seasick from the circular motion  I went to do a little investigation and realised that I needed to upgrade my camera's firmware to support the latest in camera focus stabilisation.

That done. the camera's focus improved dramatically and behaved beautifully again. I finished taking my shot of the wild carrots' dainty seedheads and was pleasantly suprised at the sharpness and bokeh I that was able to achieve.

That still left the question of whether, with the predictably long minimum focus distance of 1.4m, the 300mm lens would be at all suitable for larger less tolerant butterflies and dragonflies, some of my all time favourite macro subjects to photograph.

An obliging red admiral butterfly very much preoccupied with nectaring on my garden privet hedge allowed me to put the lens through its paces. Because of the long reach, it was a little challenging to get the focus spot on and the 1.4m minimum focus distance was, as expected a real constraint, so I am still dreaming of a nice 100mm f4.0 macro with a minimum focal range more like 40cm. Even so I did get some lovely shots rich with detail and could see this lens working nicely with tree top species.

Noble Emerald and Gold

Butterflies are having a bad year so far and are thin on the ground, so I have been entertaining myself with other little beasties.

This beautiful, iridescent emerald-coloured beetle is a member of the flower beetle family with a rather grand, royal sounding latin name Oedemera nobilis. It has several fun but less flattering English names too such as thick-legged flower beetle or swollen-thighed flower beetle, although only the females have the fat thighs.

Despite their imposing looking mandibles, adult emerald flower beetles are herbivorous and feed on flower pollen and nectar. This female thick-legged flower beetle is pictured on a Common Rock Rose (Helianthemum  Nummularian) up at Ringstead Downs in North Norfolk.

 

© Kiri Stuart-Clarke 2008-2022.
All Rights Reserved.