The Fox And The Crow

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We feed crows. We don’t go out much, so we feed crows. Any scraps that used to go to the chickens now go to the crows.

They are generally grateful but sometimes our offerings aren’t quite to their liking. Stale bread, for example, is

patiently collected,

bit by bit,

until a good bill full is

carried off to a pan of water.

Here it is dunked in water and, after soaking for a few seconds,

taken out again

and buried in the lawn for later retrieval.

With all that food stashed away it was only a matter of time before it peaked someone’s interest.

At about half eight every evening (when the light is fading – along with my hope of crisp, clear photos),

a vixen

arrives to raid the crows’ larder.

As you may imagine, this makes the crows furious.

We are usually alerted to the fox’s arrival

by the screams of a crow

as it repeatedly swoops down on the thief.

Again

and again.

Generally, the fox isn’t too bothered and continues to eat;

though occasionally she’ll remind the crow not to get too close.

But the vixen is wary; these are, after all, big birds.

Though she seems more

irritated by the mobbing than

truly worried.

Sometimes, the adult vixen has a young female in tow. This is probably a daughter from last year’s litter; they sometimes stay with the family group and help raise any cubs.

At first, the new arrival seems unfazed by the crow’s indignation

Though repeated diving

begins to unsettle her.

This is the third mobbing of one species by another that I have watched (See ‘The Fox And The Duck‘ and ‘Swallows And The Kestrel’). But on this occasion it actually

pays off. The young vixen has had enough and runs away.

Later, when it is darker still, the adult vixen finally brings out her cubs.

She has two, probably born in March and now seemingly healthy and well fed – on a diet of crow food.

A Postcard From Poland

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I got bemused looks when I told people I was going to Poland.

“On business?”

“No, holiday.”

“Oh.” (Bemused look).

See what I mean?

But the unease I felt at this reaction to news of my trip, evaporated on arrival. I loved Poland. OK, so the weather helped; warm, spring sun and clear skies that lit up what might otherwise have been gloomy, vast forests.

Wood anenomes helped brighten them up as well.

Malbork Castle – the largest, by surface area, in the world. It was taken over and enlarged after 1309 by The Order of Brothers of the German House of Saint Mary in Jerusalem (or the Teutonic Knights if you’re in a rush).

But there were also buildings on a frankly ridiculous, huge scale in Malbork

and Kwidzyn; the cathedral also had a seriously good museum – though I might suggest renaming the Latrine Tower (left) to something a little less … prosaic.

White Stork (Ciconia ciconia)

Wildlife seemed less shy than I’m used to. White storks were in every village; on almost every farm.

They are thought to bring good luck and

encouraged to nest on artificial nesting platforms; traditionally old wagon wheels.

Swallows were bolder than at the Priory,

and I was able to get

far closer than in England.

Fieldfares, which I’ve rarely seen before, were two a penny

as were house sparrows (which I have never seen at the Priory. Not once).

We have marsh frogs in the UK too; they were introduced in 1935 and are now present in SE England. Apparently.

I struggled to identify these handsome (if shameless) insects – fire beetles perhaps? (Many thanks to Amelia at A French Garden who has identified these as firebugs, Pyrrhocoris apterus).

From a distance, many of the trees seemed to be cloud pruned; only close up did the shapes reveal themselves to be mistletoe – it is far, far more widespread than at home.

Travelling with my brother, I stayed for a couple of nights south of Gdansk and

Sage Polish advice.

east of the Vistula; near the town of Kwidzyn. Being an eager and voracious eater of gherkins, I had come across the name before.

(This old pickle jar now holds pellet food for the Priory carp).

We stayed at the charming Bialy Dwor – a comfortable former manor house

where I ate the best haunch of venison imaginable. But, sadly not a whole one. My starter of smoked goose with a wild strawberry dressing had my brother snoring into his soup, as I droned on and on about how perfect it was. (Despite an expectation of indeterminate brown stews, dumplings and no vegetables, our food in Poland was excellent).

I’ve visited most countries in Europe but rarely as far east as this

where, to my eye, the architecture hints more at Russia than Poland or Germany (this whole region was German West Prussia until the end of the Second World War).

After a couple of days, we drove back to Gdansk; an elegant old Hanseatic city, (formerly Danzig)

for more ~~gluttony~~ gastronomy and a continuing scientific (and very rigorous) investigation into Polish vodkas. (Curiously, I can’t quite recall the results). After that it was time to bid Poland, “pożegnanie” and board our train to Berlin.

Might just send you a postcard from there too.

A Stampede Of Cows

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As well as this gardener walking about in his shirt-sleeves and whistling, there are various other markers that spring has finally arrived:

from the scent of wild garlic by the riverbank;

to early purple orchids,

Camassia quamash flowering on the meadow,

the rock border overflowing with forget-me-nots

and butterflies emerging – albeit a cabbage white

But the big landmark spring event for me is the turning out of Margaret’s cows from their winter quarters to grass.

It is a sight I try not to miss; from their deafening impatient lowing and then their excitement and exuberance at being set free.

Having spent months in the sheds, they are a little hesitant at first; the calves especially so – having spent their whole lives indoors, they are blinded by the light. (Those sheep really ought to get out of the way).

But suddenly, faced with all that space, these huge, matronly beasts (weighing in excess of 1000lbs)

start to hurl themselves about

with gay abandon.

Last year, I had perched on a rickety stile and felt a little vulnerable as they thundered past me – just a couple of feet away.

So this year, I’d positioned myself behind a hawthorn hedge

which, as the cows got nearer, seemed increasingly flimsy and worryingly inadequate.

Thankfully, the thudding of bovine hooves drowned out my whimpering as they barreled on toward me – with no sign of slowing. Gulp.

An open gate was just to my right

but

it was only

at the very last moment that they swerved away from me … and I could breath again.

According to the Office for National Statistics, cows kill more people in the UK than almost any other animal – accounting for about 5 deaths a year*. Mostly the victims are dog-walkers who pick up their dogs (or hold onto the leash) when cattle become agitated. Please don’t do either; your dog can outrun a cow better than you. And if it can’t, I would politely suggest that you don’t take it into a field of cows in the first place.

One calf, with a whole new world to explore, sought out only the pleasures of the manure pile; Margaret and I spent twenty minutes or so cajoling him into re-joining the herd.

And so, all’s well with the world. Job done and the cows back out to pasture – in the fields above the Priory greenhouses. It is fine to have them back – just so long as they don’t come into the gardens again, goddamnit. (See ‘Cows in the Asparagus’).

If your local farmer ever offers to show you her galloping heifers, go for it. You won’t be disappointed; just make sure you stand somewhere nice and safe.

* The animal which kills the most people in the UK is the horse, accounting for 10 deaths per year, 2nd cows, 3rd dogs – 4 per year, 4th bees and wasps – 3 per year.

Under Way

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I’m rather behind with blogging and as it’s been a while since I posted any photos of the Priory, here’s a quick, excitable splurge; a brisk whizz about the gardens, showing some photos from the past few weeks.

This steep bank below the greenhouses is one of my favourite spots at the Priory. It is no longer strimmed from early spring onwards and has rewarded us with primroses and anemones;

dog violets, a few daffodils and, earlier, crocuses. A reward for doing nothing.Similarly, bluebells and Erythronium ‘Pagoda’ are spreading and establishing themselves in another patch of uncut grass.

On the meadow, under the huge oak, primroses are on a colonisation quest. Here the meadow grass doesn’t get so long as to smother them.

They have helped make up for the dearth of daffodils. I have realised, too late, that a lot of the meadow is simply to wet for the latter.

It is a sodden environment but the fritillaries at least appreciate it;

which, as they are personal favourite, gives me smug pleasure.

Also out on the meadow the ten young fruit trees are blossoming, safe behind their deer barriers. Apart from quinces, the garden fruit trees didn’t produce any fruit last year. Not a plum, not an apple, not a pear, not a cherry, not a … well, you get the idea.

I think this year will be better.

Where the drainage is sharper (like here on a sloping lawn beside the drive), daffodils have done better – though my bulb supplier, Philip Nyssen’s quality control seems a little lax*. These are four pockets of Narcissus ‘Ice Follies‘ but, as you can see, a few of another variety have slipped in. Should I be annoyed? Should I rant? Stamp my foot? Should I rip out the interlopers? Probably, but that seems churlish and mean-spirited. They can stay, I suppose.

On the east lawn where again the drainage is good (there is a ditch cutting across this shot) another introduction is doing well: N. ‘St Patrick’s Day.‘

My all time favourite daffodil is N. ‘Thalia‘ planted here on the east lawn and I’m pretty fond of

N. ‘Pipit‘ too – doing moderately well on a drier part of the meadow.

Under a large oak these doubles have been here for years. Even if I liked them (which I don’t)

the flowers are too heavy to stand upright. What’s the point in that? Silly things.

The Priory has two Amelanchiers; this one planted too close to the tulip tree by the house

and another smaller one in one of the kidney beds. Beautiful, huh?

And after last year’s rubbish performance the blackthorn on the river bank has put on a good show this year. It is getting a little too large – I think next winter I shall lift its crown by a few feet and reveal the mass of wild garlic at its feet.

And finally a shot across the east lawn to the greenhouses – taken yesterday. Which brings us up to date. Phew.

Yep, the gardens are certainly under way. Now, if I can just stay on top of it.

* An addendum. Within hours of publishing this post, I had a very nice email from Karen at Philip Nyssen, apologising for the strays amongst my Ice Follies and offering replacements. How gracious – though on reflection, I ought to apologise too. I should have contacted them as soon as the problem became evident rather than waiting almost four years before having an online moan.

Angle Shades And A Competition

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I spend a lot of time thinking about what my next post might be. Especially when I’m mowing or weeding or doing some other mindless task – after all there’s no-one to talk to; no-one real anyhow. But sometimes the decision is made for me.

Like the other day. I was potting up some plants in the greenhouse (sempervivums, since you ask), bent down over my stuff-to-go-to-the-compost-bin-bucket and saw this:

A handsome, largish moth – though it was only when I got home that I identified it as an

angle shades; which is, you’ll agree, a fine name. An angle shades moth (Phlogophora meticulosa). I suppose I’d carried it into the heated greenhouse (hidden amongst my fascinating semp collection) and the warmth woke it up.

I tried feeding it on the only flowers I have in the greenhouse at the moment: Pachyphytum oviferum (it wasn’t keen) and

pelargoniums (keener). But I couldn’t tell whether it actually drank any nectar.

The larvae of the moth eat a range of herbaceous plants so I suppose I should’ve been wary of helping it. But how could I not;

especially when

it looked me so earnestly in the eye.

So I gave it a little sugar-water and the following day, when it was finally a little warmer, popped it out on the grass. Their caterpillars feed mostly on nettle and dock – of which we have plenty. As long as they stick to those we’ll get along just fine.

oooOOOooo

Have you had an encounter recently? With a creature that was a little unusual? No, I don’t mean that kind of encounter; an encounter with a non-human creature? Have you seen and photographed

a mammal?

Or a bird?

or perhaps an insect? Or whatever? Something in your garden (though not necessarily – we don’t really have elephants or black vultures at the Priory); something that you haven’t seen before or only rarely? Because those jolly nice people at Select Furnishings (and me) are holding a competition to win one of these:

It’s an outdoor fire pit (in case you wondered), sells on their website for £139.00 and will keep you warm long after the barbecue has gone out.

If you’d like to win a fire pit, here’s what you need to do:

If you’re a blogger, just publish a post detailing your ‘encounter’ (with at least one photo). You’ll need to put in a link to this Anxious Gardener post (in order that I know that you’ve entered) and somewhere in the article put in a link to Select Furnishings. And that’s it.

If you’re not a blogger, don’t despair and wipe away those tears; you too can enter. Just e-mail your post to theanxiousgardener@hotmail.co.uk including at least one photo and I’ll publish it here on the AG.*

Sorry but the competition is open to UK residents only. I’m away for a few days next week so the closing date will be midnight 3rd May 2013. Select Furnishings will choose the winner and I shall announce the result in due course.

Good luck!

* I may exercise some editorial control – but only after consulting with you.

The Anxious Gardener

Will it germinate? Will it grow? Will it flower? Will it survive? Should I eat it? Will I be found out?

The Fox And The Crow

A Postcard From Poland

A Stampede Of Cows

Under Way

Angle Shades And A Competition

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