Bringing Back Beavers

A few weeks ago, I was asked by Conker Nature Magazine if I would be able to write an article for them, about the beaver reintroductions in Britain. The editor is a friend from college and likes my writing on here. We didn't have any college assignments to do, so I said yes! 

I knew almost nothing about the reintroductions, so I really enjoyed researching and writing the article. As I mention in it, it's easy to find information on beavers and their benefits, so I focused on the story of the reintroductions themselves, which was really interesting. (I would like to write a post on here soon, though, about beavers and the importance of wetland habitats in general.) It was also quite nice, as an overthinker and perfectionist who usually spends an extraordinarily long time writing blog posts and college reports, to be given a specific topic to write about, and a deadline of just a week. It still took a long time, though, haha.

Anyway, the article was published two weeks ago in Conker Nature's February 2022 edition, to mark the one-year anniversary of Natural England basically giving the green light to future beaver reintroductions. I was so chuffed to be asked and it's really cool to have my writing published in a magazine - thanks again to the editor for the opportunity! I was sent a digital copy of the final "tearsheets", the pages with my article on, and have kindly been allowed to share the article text on here too :)

You can find out more about Conker Nature on the website linked above, Like/Follow them on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and Twitter, and, if you're interested, purchase print, digital, or print and digital copies of all issues of the magazine at MagCloud.com. I hope you enjoy the article!

Bringing Back Beavers

Many of us grew up associating beavers with North America, not knowing they were once an integral part of British landscapes too. The Eurasian beaver, Castor fiber, was hunted to extinction in Britain in the 16th century, prized for its fur, meat, and the oil from its scent glands which was used in perfumes and medicine. Reintroductions have been going on in Europe for around a century after the population dropped to just 1200 individuals, but we are finally catching up, and the last two decades have seen efforts to bring these amazing rodents back to our island.

It is very easy to find information on what beavers are and the benefits they bring, so I won't go into that here. Instead I'd like to tell the story of the reintroductions themselves. It started in Scotland. After the European Habitats Directive 1992 encouraged Member States to consider the reintroduction of extinct species, in 1995 Scottish Natural Heritage (now NatureScot) began feasibility studies. They looked at the historical evidence of beavers there, suitable habitat sites, appropriate sources from populations on the Continent, possible beaver movements across the landscape, and their potential impacts. The first licence application for a trial reintroduction in 2005 was rejected, but this led to the Scottish Wildlife Trust becoming more involved and joining forces with the Royal Zoological Society for Scotland, and in 2008 a licence was granted. In May 2009 three families of Eurasian beavers from Norway, 11 animals in total, were released in separate locations across Knapdale Forest in Argyll, beginning the five-year Scottish Beaver Trial.

In the meantime, wild beavers had also mysteriously appeared in eastern Scotland, on the River Tay in Perthshire. In 2012 the Scottish Government decided to allow them to stay for the remaining duration of the Scottish Beaver Trial, and set up the Tayside Beaver Study Group to monitor them. It would then take the findings of both studies into account and make a decision on the future of all beavers in Scotland.

South of the border, beavers have been living wild again in England since around 2008, when they were spotted on the River Otter in south-east Devon. As on the River Tay, these were of unknown origin. When kits were seen in 2014, the UK Government intended to capture and remove all the beavers there to stop further breeding and spreading, but, backed by huge public support, the Devon Wildlife Trust stepped in with a plan for a five-year trial reintroduction, which was approved. Once the animals had been caught and tested to confirm they were of Eurasian origin and healthy, they were returned to the river in 2015 - and the River Otter Beaver Trial began.

Estuary of the River Otter. (Photo mine, not used in the article.)

There have also been around a dozen licensed releases onto enclosed sites around England and Wales, in efforts to help restore vital wetland habitats and improve biodiversity. As early as 2002, Kent Wildlife Trust were the first to import, quarantine, and release two families of Eurasian beavers into a 30-hectare enclosure on one of their nature reserves to help restore the south-east's last remaining fenland habitat at Ham Fen. In 2011 a pair were released into a 3-hectare enclosure on private land in Devon, followed by Cornwall in 2017, Essex in 2019, and Cheshire, Cumbria, the Knepp Estate in Sussex, and the National Trust Holnicote Estate in Somerset in 2020. And in 2021 beavers were released in Dorset, Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, a National Trust location in the South Downs, and for the first time in Wales at Montgomeryshire Wildlife Trust's Cors Dyfi Nature Reserve.

There are of course conflicts and opposition, particularly with the wild beaver trials. Beaver activities may damage vegetation or cause flooding, affecting agricultural and forestry crops. Although they are herbivores and don't eat fish, their dams may prevent upstream migration of species like salmon and trout and affect fisheries. Their creation of wetlands can cause concern of increased flood risk, or flood risk to new areas. Their underground burrows can erode riverbanks. And they could carry and spread disease. Of course people are going to be concerned about potential socio-economic and public health issues. Plus, we humans don't like change very much, and in 500 years we've forgotten not only how to live alongside these animals but also that we once did. Our landscapes are vastly different to what they were when beavers were last here, and there are tens of millions more people. 

The wild beaver trials rigorously monitored every possible aspect: the ecology and health of the beavers themselves; the local populations of otters, fish, dragonflies and damselflies, and other fauna; the woodland, loch, and river habitats they inhabited; hydrology; water chemistry; scheduled ancient monuments; socio-economics including agriculture and forestry; and public health risks. The vast amount of information gathered by the Scottish Beaver Trial and the Tayside Beaver Study Group were summarised in Scottish Natural Heritage's 2015 "Beavers in Scotland" report.

After reviewing the report, in 2016 the Scottish Government made the landmark decision that the beaver populations in Knapdale and Tayside could stay. They would be allowed to expand their range naturally, though careful management was needed to minimise negative impacts, and the government would work towards securing European Protected Species status for beavers in Scotland. In 2017 the three-year Scottish Beaver Reinforcement Project began, to strengthen the Knapdale population with further releases from different genetic backgrounds. In 2019 the Protected Species status was granted, meaning it is illegal to kill beavers or destroy their dams or lodges, although culls when difficulties cannot be mitigated or managed another way are permitted under license. The most recent NatureScot figures estimated the beaver population in Scotland to be somewhere between 600 and 1380, mainly in the Tay and Forth catchments.

In England, the UK Government hailed the success of the River Otter Beaver Trial in 2020, particularly the impact on the local ecology and flood risk reduction, and likewise allowed the beavers to stay, roam free, and expand their range subject to management. At that point there were 15 beaver families across the river's catchment. In 2021 Natural England published their recommendations for future licensed reintroductions into the wild, namely that they should be done at a measured pace to allow habitats, species, and people to adapt and time for problems to be resolved.

Reintroducing beavers to Britain has been a resounding success. While it may be nice to think that this is due to the charisma and good work of the animals themselves, it is to the outstanding work of the countless people involved that we owe our thanks. From Wildlife Trusts to government bodies, university research teams to local government environmental health departments, farmers, fishermen, local community members, partners in Europe, landowners, enthusiasts, skeptics, and more. We have a habit of simplifying and overlooking how much work things take, but I hope I have given you a better idea of just how much has gone into these reintroduction efforts. As the climate and biodiversity crisis continues, the wetlands that beavers create are vitally needed - for storage of carbon and water, flood mitigation, and as habitat for species under pressure - and this work must continue. These trials have paved the way and left us with excellent guidelines to use going forward. Hopefully as time goes on we will see wild beaver numbers grow in new areas of the country - and maybe a glimpse of the wonderful creatures occasionally too.

Exmouth 2021 - part 1

Yay, time for a travel post at long last! Two weeks ago I took myself off down to Exmouth for a few days; my first little trip away since late 2019. I'd booked it a couple of months earlier, and was looking forward to getting away and spending some time on the coast.

Monday 5th July

There were delays on my train journey so I arrived in Exmouth about an hour later than expected, around 2:30pm. I bought a coronation chicken sandwich as a late lunch from the M&S next to the station and found my way to the house where I was staying; my Airbnb was a local resident's spare room. (She was a Verified Superhost and had loads of good reviews, so I was pretty confident it would be safe and comfortable.) She was nice and had a gorgeous calm-tempered greyhound, her home was lovely and quirky and very clean, and the room was quiet and cosy. I always tend to linger in my room for an hour or two whenever I arrive somewhere, I guess to sort of work myself up to going out and finding my way around a new place. The weather was miserable and if I'd been in a hotel or B&B I would have stayed in, but as I was in someone's home (and on holiday) I felt like I should spend as much time as possible not there (though I'm sure she wouldn't have minded) - so I went out again around 4:30.

To avoid the heavy grey clouds, rain, and strong and chilly breeze, I decided to go to the cinema; Supernova, a drama starring the greats that are Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci and set in the Lake District, was showing at 5:45. The cinema was an independent one, which is really cool. I had the screen to myself, and want to see all the films they showed trailers for (the Marvel trailer for not just Black Widow but announcing all their films for the next few years was particularly exciting, haha). The film was very good; quiet, modest, understated, with a moving story and brilliant performances. I don't usually get snacks at the cinema but bought a small popcorn, and that along with the other snacks I had with me ended up being my tea, my evening meal, even though I was out again by 7pm and could have found somewhere for dinner. Afterwards I went to the seafront and sat in a shelter on the Esplanade, out of the wind and rain, watching the headlands at Berry Head, Torquay, Teignmouth, and Dawlish slowly disappear in the worsening weather.

Tuesday 6th

My host provided a range of options for breakfast and I opted to try some posh Kelloggs protein cereal that turned out to be cinnamon-y and very yummy. She also had a jar of dried cranberries the likes of which I've never seen before - they were whole, and huge, and gorgeous, and I'm kicking myself that I didn't go to the town's zero-waste shop, where I think she said she got them from, to see if they had any. Being a guest in the home of someone I didn't know and sitting in their kitchen trying to make conversation over breakfast wasn't the most relaxing experience; as always I was very conscious of not having questions to ask her about herself or many comments to make in response to things she was saying, especially because she was an interesting person and we had a lot of interests in common. But I'm always harder on myself than I need to be, there wasn't actually very much awkward silence so it wasn't too bad. I loved her home - an old terraced cottage full of books, houseplants, art, mismatched second-hand everything, and cherished items from near and far. She said it was nice to have someone stay for a few days as it's more relaxing, most of her guests are walkers who stay for just one night.

One of the reasons I chose Exmouth was for the walking - the town lies on the South West Coast Path, and is one end of the 26-mile Exe Estuary Trail that loops around the estuary linking together Exmouth, Exeter, and Dawlish Warren. I decided to spend my first full day doing the coast path to Budleigh Salterton, a route of just over five miles/eight kilometres. The first two miles is just along Exmouth Beach. Towards the far end, where the red sandstone cliffs which mark the western end of the Jurassic Coast start to rise, you have to be careful not to get cut off by the incoming tide, especially if you walk around into Sandy Bay at low tide. The cliffs are amazing to look at, and a little daunting to stand under even if they're not as high as elsewhere along the coast. The Jurassic Coast - the 95 miles between Orcombe Point at Exmouth and Old Harry Rocks at Swanage - is England's only natural UNESCO World Heritage Site. Why is it so special (apart from being stunningly beautiful)? You know what, I cannot possibly come up with a better explanation than the experts at the Jurassic Coast Trust:

Imagine your favourite film trilogy. Now imagine that the first film is only ever shown in Scotland, the second only shown in France and the third only shown in Brazil. Annoying right? Now imagine that you stumble across a little cinema on the south coast of England that shows the entire trilogy, all three films back to back with extra scenes and everything. That’s what the Jurassic Coast is like for three geological time Periods called the Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous.

Those three time periods of Earth history collectively make up the Mesozoic Era, running from around 250 to 65 million years ago. Rocks that offer an almost complete record of that entire time are spread out along the Jurassic Coast, a bit like the pages of a book.

How literally awesome is that?! I've always had an interest in physical Earth sciences like geology and should actually study it a bit at some point. The red rocks in East Devon are Triassic, the oldest, formed from layers of sand in a vast desert 250-200 million years ago - and there were other, older, grey rocks underneath those. The website linked above has more easy-to-understand information if you're interested, including an image showing which areas of the coastline have which rocks.

Anyway, back to the walk. At Orcombe Point you leave the beach and take the steps up the cliff, then a short walk through some National Trust clifftop grasslands brings you to the Geoneedle, an obelisk showing the different rocks along the Jurassic Coast. There's also a large compass thing in the ground pointing towards landmarks along the coast, which makes you realise how much the coastline curves around. Less than a mile further on was the Devon Cliffs Holiday Park - the halfway point of this route - and the South Beach Cafe, where I stopped for lunch. I ordered a raspberry lemonade and the shredded beef mac and cheese, the latter of which was yummy (especially as it came with a caramelised onion chutney) and satisfying, although the tablespoon's worth of beef was disappointingly more of a garnish than an ingredient. There were steps down into Sandy Bay, which I've heard is nice, but I wasn't in a great mood and just wanted to carry on.

It took me just over an hour to cover the remaining two and a half miles to Budleigh Salterton. The weather stayed good, a mix of cloud and sun with a breeze. The rain falling over the land and sea on the horizon didn't come my way, thankfully. The path was unnervingly close to the cliff edge in places, but I loved looking out over the countryside to my left and the sea to my right; the waves rolling in, the white horses, the shifting colours under sunshine and cloud shadow. Once at Budleigh and on the beach, the astonishing rusty red colour of the water, created by runoff from the cliffs after the recent rains, became more obvious and prominent against the pale pebbles of the beach. The beach itself was impressive too, sculpted by the forces of the waves in a way I hadn't seen before, into a pair of waves itself with steep banks and deep troughs. And oh, I loved the pebbles, the pebbles were gorgeous. Huge, round, oval, smooth, a variety of colours - pinks, purples, yellows, oranges, greys, blacks, stripey ones, spotty ones. I was ever so tempted to take one away with me, but I didn't, one single lone pebble would look out of place in my room, I wouldn't know what to do with it, and it's just generally better to not take things, to leave them and let other people enjoy them too. 

I spent about an hour on the beach, trying to be present and improve my low mood by concentrating on watching the waves, but frustration took over as I struggled with indecision over whether to get the bus back or walk, and what to do when I got back. Eventually, at about 5pm, I decided to walk back, via the 'Exmouth to Budleigh Salterton Old Railway Line', a flat paved route through the countryside. You have to walk through the town to reach it, so I took what I thought was a more direct route from my starting point at the beach but it turned out to be an unpleasant footpath-less on-road route, which put me in a bad mood, so I was very glad to finally reach the path after 45 minutes. Being back among woodland and farmland - and other walkers - was soothing and made me feel slightly better, and I stopped at a bench to rest, have a snack, and just look and listen to what was around me. Cows were mooing comfortingly in one of the fields, clustering in one corner where the farmer was probably putting some food out for them, birds were singing and flitting about, including some kind of martins, a kestrel hovered nearby, and once I set off again a black cat crossed the path way ahead and sat in the vegetation to one side, staring at me as I walked past, which made me smile. 

Eventually I got back to Exmouth Beach, after a long day of walking around 15 miles. I bought a pack of bread rolls from the convenience store on the seafront and went back to the same shelter I'd sat in the evening before, to put together a tuna mayo roll with the can of said filling and cutlery from home I'd brought with me. Once again my evening meal was snacks, more of a lunch, but at least I'd had the mac and cheese earlier. Grey clouds and a slightly chilly breeze were still about but several locals were playing volleyball on the beach, and some kitesurfers and sailboaters were out on the water. I looked through my binoculars at the three cruise ships anchored off the distant headlands. What looked to the naked eye to be some sort of cargo ship turned out to be an ugly hulking Virgin Voyages liner, haha. I headed back to the house, located just one street behind the seafront, around 9pm.

-

Thanks for reading all that if you have! I think when I'm writing these things that I often focus on certain aspects I enjoyed or things I noticed, and I sound enthusiastic and maybe it comes across that I had a good time. Which is why I've mentioned my low moods and not actually having a good time. Sometimes solo travel is like that, for a variety of reasons, and I like to be honest and not pretend. This trip could have been improved by better planning, as I hadn't really planned at all. Anyway, part two about the Wednesday and Thursday to follow soon!

Dawn Chorus Day

Happy International Dawn Chorus Day! Yay. What a wonderful thing to celebrate. 

It's currently 5:55am. I woke up nearly an hour ago, having set my alarm for what might be considered by some to be ridiculously early for a Sunday morning - but it's worth it. I don't think there can be a better way to start the day - any day - than by being still and quiet and listening to a world filled with birdsong. 

You do have to be up early for it, though. Sunrise is around 5:30 but the sky lightens a while before then and the birds start singing even while it's still dark. Here, even by 5:30 the chorus was starting to dwindle down. Late April and early May is when the dawn chorus is at its peak, so you still have time if you'd like to hear it. Many enthusiasts go outside and take themselves off for a walk (or rather walk to somewhere they can sit quietly so as to not disturb the birds and scare them away), and I'd love to do that one day. But even though I could have gone down to the garden, I just opened my curtains and my window and listened from the comfort of my bed, sometimes standing at the window for a minute or two breathing in the fresh, cold air and gazing at the clear pastel sky and the waning half moon. If you'd like to hear the dawn chorus but can't quite bring yourself to wake up that early, check out the RSPB's Dawn Chorus Live, broadcast this morning. It had two hours of live birdsong from various locations around the country, with commentary by Chris Packham and Megan McCubbin, followed by live chat with guests.

In addition to waking up at 5am, last night I tuned in to the first hour of a special late-night broadcast celebrating nightingales, so didn't get to sleep till midnight. Those legendary night-time songsters have sadly become very rare, having declined by 90% in the last 50 years, and most of us will never hear one. The host, folk singer Sam Lee, sat in a field somewhere in Sussex with a microphone, recording the wonderful sound of the nightingales around him, interspersing their song with recorded readings by nature writers, poets, and musicians. It was lovely, a very nice thing to listen to late in the night, I'm going to listen to more of it tonight. It was the last of a trio by The Nest Collective, which can be listened to here, here, and here (no need to listen to all three unless you want to, any will do, they're very similar). They're definitely a late-night thing, when the world is quiet and you have nothing else taking your attention. The first two are each about two hours long, with the host, the sound of nightingales, and the recorded readings and gentle music. This final one was an overnight dawn chorus special, so after the first two hours the host left the microphone recording overnight, so it's just the song of the nightingales and whatever other creatures might make a sound nearby, continuing through to the dawn chorus and ending at 6am.

It was also Beltane yesterday, so Happy Beltane to any friends who mark it. I never really do anything to celebrate, but I always kind of wish I did. (Here's what I did last year.) To many modern pagans the holiday is about fertility and sexuality and fecundity, but that's never resonated with me, which may be why I never know how to celebrate. But I read an article yesterday which said that the earliest written reference to Beltane, in Ireland, is from around the year 900 and simply tells of two fires being lit and cattle being driven between them for protection from disease (and undoubtedly malicious faeries too, although that wasn't written down). At this time of year livestock are moved from winter cover to summer pastures, and crops are starting to grow and need the light and heat of the sun, so of course farmers would have wanted to do something to try and ensure their livelihoods were safe. Fire - cleansing and destructive - represents what was most important to them at this time of year, so that's what they celebrated with. Modern celebrations more stem from English May Day festivals. I haven't looked into that history, but a simple fire festival related to where we are in the wheel of the year sits well with me, even though it might be more appropriate for me, being English rather than of Irish or Scottish origin, to mark May Day rather than Beltane. I also liked what the author of the article said about fire being a particularly appropriate trope right now: we want to put much of 2020 into the flames, and safeguard against the rest of 2021.

Most of us are disconnected from the natural world and the turning of the seasons. Which... isn't good. That connection gives a real richness and meaning to life. I'd certainly like to be more in tune with it all. Getting up for the sunrise at the height of spring to immerse yourself in birdsong before the noise of the modern world really gets going, is a wonderful thing to experience. Birdsong has been part of the human psyche for as long as we have existed, it gave us clues about the land around us and was our radio until radio was invented. Thinking about it, I like the idea of, from now on, marking this height of spring by celebrating nightingales, the dawn chorus, and Beltane/May Day all together in my own way - by lighting candles in the evenings, waking up for the dawn chorus, getting outside to revel in the vibrancy of springtime, listening to some favourite fun May Day songs, and whatever else takes my fancy.

Right, I'm hungry and am going to get myself some breakfast and listen to Hal An Tow and Merry May Folk. Do consider setting your alarm for 4:30 or 5am sometime over the next few days, and have a lovely rest of this long weekend!

Earth Day 2021

Happy Earth Day!

I need to put this date in my calendar for next year, I didn't know about it until today. I'm spending the day working on an assignment for college, so don't have time to try and write something particular. However, an Earth Day email I received earlier reminded me of something I had started writing about months ago but hadn't finished and published, so I thought I would quickly edit that post and use it today.

I'd like to encourage you to listen to this exquisite song, all the way through: https://youtu.be/GyL-ZLn3omY. Just put it on, when you have some quiet time, and listen, do nothing else for those few minutes. I discovered it in early December, and it actually brought tears to my eyes, and listening to it for the first time in a while just now it still sent a chill down my spine. It's called "The Lost Words Blessing", from the album The Lost Words: Spell Songs, a project by an ensemble of musicians following the 2017 publication of The Lost Words poetry book, by nature writer Robert Macfarlane and illustrator Jackie Morris. The book is gorgeous, and was created in response to the increasing disappearance of nature-related words from children's vocabulary, particularly the removal of a large number of such words from a prominent children's dictionary - acorn, bluebell, dandelion, wren, otter, kingfisher, hazel, heather, fern, heron, moss, ivy, lark, blackberry, grey seal, and more. As Robert Macfarlane said - "Names... can help us see and they help us care. We find it hard to love what we cannot give a name to. And what we do not love we will not save." It is a celebration and a protest. While I haven't listened to the whole album yet, this song is just as gorgeous as the book, with both beauty and sadness. One review I read summed it up well: "It is offered both in hope and light, and in grief for the losses yet to come." Here are the lyrics.

If you enjoy reading, I would also recommend the following:

• Back to Nature: How to Love Life and Save It - Chris Packham and Megan McCubbin
• The Stubborn Light of Things: A Nature Diary - Melissa Harrison (the author has other nature-related books, and a podcast of the same name)
• Diary of a Young Naturalist - Dara McAnulty
• Wilding - Isabella Tree (about the rewilding of the Knepp Estate)
• The Shepherd's Life: A Tale of the Lake District - James Rebanks (he also has other books I just haven't read them yet)
• I Am the Seed That Grew the Tree: A Nature Poem for Every Day of the Year - collected by Fiona Waters
• Anything by Robert Macfarlane, Roger Deakin, Sir David Attenborough
• Anything that can be found in the Nature section of a bookshop, far too many to mention

Lastly - please leave the dandelions alone! They are brilliant for bees. Our society has an obsession with neat, tidy, trimmed lawns which are free of anything that isn't grass. So-called weeds are pulled up or, worse, sprayed with poisonous chemical herbicides. Unless they are a known non-native invasive species, resist this urge! Dandelions, clover, daisies, and buttercups (and more) are native wildflowers which provide food for pollinators, those most vital of creatures. See what other flowers you can see growing in the grass (they'll likely be tiny!) and use a plant ID app, such as Plantsnap, to put a name to them. Also, in spring, resist tidying garden plants until the weather is steadily warm and night-time temperatures are consistently above freezing; again, "weeds" and last year's growth can provide much-needed shelter for invertebrates and small mammals coming out of hibernation. Take part in No Mow May. There's absolutely nothing wrong with letting things get a little unruly; in fact, your local wildlife would love you for it.

Right, I'm off to try and get a bit more done on this hedgerow survey report!

Science behind the health benefits of nature

It feels a bit weird to be making a post just before Christmas / around the winter solstice, and for it to be a topic I could post at any other time of year. I feel like I should be writing about the symbolism of the solstice, and how it's a time to rest and reflect and face the darkness and wait for the light to return. I even feel, with all the rubbish news around and people struggling so much at the moment, that perhaps I shouldn't post anything at all. But I haven't planned anything like the former, got this written pretty quickly for a change and would like to publish it, and, well, perhaps this little post will help someone, be a small pleasant distraction or an encouragement to get out for a walk or something.

I'm sure everyone reading this is at least vaguely aware that being outside in nature is good for us. It boosts our mood, reduces stress, improves ability to focus, etc. What's less understood is why that is. Well, research is beginning to tell us! I've long been interested in science, and more recently in how the brain works, and when in a recent college Group Tutorial session we were asked to create a short presentation on a topic we were interested in (but that was at least vaguely related to the course), this sprung to mind. And I thought it'd be a nice blog post, too.

Back in the spring lockdown, every morning I tuned into the Facebook Live 'Self-Isolating Bird Club' broadcasts by Chris Packham and his zoologist step-daughter Megan McCubbin. A guest they had on a few times was Emma Mitchell, a nature-lover with chronic depression who trained as a biologist. She's fascinated by how nature makes us feel better, and shared some of the science behind it. The research is all fairly recent, scientists are only just beginning to understand and there's a lot more we don't know the mechanisms behind yet. But it's so interesting. So... 

Exposure to green spaces, plants, and water does lots of things:

• boosts the immune system
• lowers heart rate and blood pressure
• reduces stress
• improves mood
• increases ability to focus
• accelerates recovery from surgery or illness
• increases energy level
• improves sleep

I'll start with phytoncides. In layman's terms - plant oils. They are airborne chemicals released by plants to fend off pests and disease, and will just be floating around in the air around you whenever you're within a couple of feet of some plants. When humans breathe in phytoncides, two things happen:

• heart rate and blood pressure lower
• cortisol (stress hormone) reduces

So we feel slightly more positive when we're among plants. Even indoor plants can make a difference, they still give off those oils. Herbs are actually great for this - rub them between your fingertips and inhale the glorious scent. You'll get a hit of phytoncides, and a hit of dopamine (a feel-good hormone) from enjoying the scent. Anxiety also reduces when we're around plants.

Phytoncides also have an effect on our immune system. Our bodies respond to them by increasing production of 'natural killer cells' - a type of white blood cell which helps kill off cells infected with viruses or tumors. 

And it's not just plants on land; chemicals given off by marine life have been shown to help reduce allergies and asthma.

Now onto the soil. Soil contains a type of beneficial bacteria, which activates groups of neurons (nerve cells in the brain) responsible for producing serotonin. Serotonin is a hormone which helps us feel good. Low levels of it contribute to depression. The bacteria also activates neurons related to our immune response. So if you're digging in the garden or topping up the soil in a plant pot, rub your hands in that good clean dirt, bring them to your nose, and breathe in deep! I'll leave it to your judgement about doing that when outdoors elsewhere, haha.

Water! Even sitting by an urban fountain for a while can be beneficial, if you can't get to a stream, lake, or the sea. As with phytoncides, water has a few effects. The sound of water reduces cortisol levels. Seeing water dials down our fight-or-flight response, calms us down a bit. And looking at water, where there's very little going on, gives our brain a little break from the almost-constant visual stimulation we are subjected to and surrounded by in our modern lives. There's also something called the Mammalian Dive Reflex, which among other things means that when our faces are submerged in cold water and we're holding our breath, our heart rate slows. So next time you're feeling a bit worked up, maybe fill your bathroom basin with cold water, take a deep breath, and plunge your face into it for as long as you can. Even if you're in a public bathroom, you could still probably benefit from holding your breath and splashing cold water on your face a few times.

A few last points:

• the colour green makes us feel more positive
• patterns in nature (symmetry, spirals, fractals, waves, etc.) - our brains are drawn to these and react positively to them
• natural sounds, especially birdsong, has been shown to be more relaxing than meditation apps (check out the RSPB Birdsong Radio!)
• seeing, hearing, watching wildlife gives us a spark of joy - and a hit of dopamine

So. As in all aspects of life, even the little things can make a difference. Getting out into green spaces - even just a city park - is so important. If you have any outdoor space, put some potted plants in there. If you don't, then get some houseplants, or windowsill herbs. Have photos of trees and landscapes and water you can look at. Go for walks. Sit by a fountain. Listen to birdsong. Rub your hands in the soil and let it run through your fingers. Go wild swimming. Look up and around and take notice, see the patterns and symmetry and the strong little plants pushing through the cracks in the paving stones. If you have a garden, have a go at making some of it wildlife-friendly by bringing in native species of plants - that'll increase your chances of seeing wildlife and therefore of a little dopamine. Nature can be a real healer. Don't underestimate the power of seemingly small, simple things.

Garden diary, one November weekend

Thursday 19th - I go out into the garden first thing to feed the birds, even before I've fed myself for some reason. It's sunny but cold. Wonderfully, a robin comes and lands on the bird feeder hook right next to me as I'm putting feed on the bird table. I freeze and smile and say hello, and it stares at me for a few moments before flying up onto the fence behind it, still only a foot or so away. It flies down to the bird table a few times while I'm still there, hovering for a moment before landing, to snatch one of the little pink fat pellets I've noticed it prefers. So cute!

I hear the contact calls of long-tailed tits and turn towards the trees, and happily manage to catch a glimpse of them flitting along. Long-tailed tits are one of my favourite birds, simply because they are ever so cute. They're absolutely tiny, fluffy and round like those little craft pom-poms, with a pinkish colour, and a long tail which makes them look like flying spoons. They're very social birds and hang around in groups, huddling together for warmth at night, and their nests are amazing, made of moss and spiderwebs so that it expands as the chicks grow. I see them flying around sometimes - they tend to flit along from one tree to another quite quickly - but sadly for some reason they don't come into the garden to feed.

Once back inside I get my breakfast and sit at the dining room table, next to the door to the garden so I can look out. It always takes the birds a little while to come once the food's out, but Ms House Mouse is out from under the deck straightaway. For some reason she always jumps up onto the feed bowl rather than running up one of the short legs of the stand it sits on.

House mouse taking some bird food

The squirrels monopolise most of it, of course, sitting on the bird table and just staying there, eating their fill even before the poor birds get a look in. As I type there are currently four of them on the various feeders. The poor collared doves sit on the fence next to the bird table, wanting their breakfast but not brave enough to go for it with the squirrel there. It takes them maybe five minutes to cotton onto the fact that they could just fly across the garden to the dish by the deck. Alas they're only there for a moment before a pigeon arrives, puffing himself up and jostling them off the dish. A few times the doves have stood up to his kind, raising themselves up and spreading their wings in an aggressive posture, which is great to see. I find myself scolding the squirrels and pigeons through the window for being such pigs, as if they could understand me, hahaha.

(By the way, although I'm using "he" and "she" for these creatures, I have no idea of their sex, except the sparrows.)

Last to arrive are the starlings and sparrows. Starlings just make me think of lanky, squabbling teenagers, haha. They look funny running across the lawn on their lanky legs (even lankier when they were juveniles/fledglings back in the summer), and are noisy and boisterous, shouting at each other to go away. Sparrows are noisy too but in a nicer, less intrusive way, it's a sweeter sound. They hang around in groups so there are always lots of them, and when they're in the trees it's just such a lovely sound, so much birdsong!

But we have a little mystery - one of the bird feeders, which hangs on the hook by the bird table, is missing. It's not in the little hebe shrub underneath, as it usually is if it's not on the hook, so goodness knows what happened to it.

A magpie turns up later in the morning for a short time. The starlings eat all the mealworms within just two hours. I spot a great tit on one of the feeders by the back fence, and a blue tit later on, and a dunnock hopping around on the ground under the shrubs. We occasionally get a jackdaw or two visiting. 

This is a typical day.

Saturday 21st - Long tailed tits!!! A few of them flit down to the feeders for a few moments, never staying still, but alas they're all off again, out of the garden within 30 seconds. Maybe they come down to feed more often than we think, but it happens to be when we're not looking. 

We're out of bird seed so I put some peanuts in the dish by the deck. There's some in one of the hanging feeders but for some reason nobody is interested, only the squirrels and the nocturnal wood mice eat them. I watch at the window for a little while but not even the house mouse comes out for the easy calorie-rich meal which is literally right on her doorstep.

The missing bird feeder has been found. Under the hebe. We obviously just hadn't looked hard enough haha. 

A dove seems to be taking sanctuary in the garden. It flew in looking much bedraggled, with most of its tail feathers missing, and just sat itself down inside one of the pots on the deck, sheltered a little by the other potted plants. It's been there for about 45 minutes now. I've not seen such behaviour before, all the birds are constantly on the move. It must have been attacked, poor thing. 

I feel bad now, I scared it away, going out to put a handful of oats down. It flew off, to the shed roof where it's sitting now. A red kite just flew over, low and slowly, but the dove is hidden from above by the hazel tree overhanging the shed. 

An hour later...

There's a flippin' sparrowhawk in the garden!!!! :D :D :D I've only ever glimpsed one before; soooo excited! It came for the dove. The dove had flown back down to the deck pots and sat there for a little while again, eventually working up the courage and/or energy to hop onto the bird food dish, but it was only there for half a minute before it started to fly up again and another bird slammed into it. I thought it was another dove or a pigeon, but when neither bird flew up again I went outside to have a look, and saw these yellow eyes staring back at me! My mouth dropped open as far as it could go, haha. Wow!!!!!!! 

It stayed in the garden for a while, plucking its meal. It was constantly looking up and around, and moving around the border from shrub to shrub, wanting to hide, not wanting anything else to take its prize. What a privilege to be able to see it so close and for so long, and to get some photos too!

Sparrowhawk in the garden

Sunday 22nd - So the sparrowhawk (which was a female, I looked it up online) did not have a meal in our garden yesterday... for some reason she plucked the feathers from its chest but didn't actually eat any of the meat, or at least hardly any of it. Bizarre. I wonder if she was scared off by next door's dog; she ended up dragging the dove around the garden to a sheltered spot between the fence and the hebe, where she and her catch were well hidden, but that fence gets a dog or two running close to it numerous times a day. Will never know. The dove was dragged back out onto the patio by something overnight, so I've thrown it over the back fence into the woods.

Monday 23rd - The bird seed order hasn't arrived yet, so I chopped up some peanuts, instead of leaving them whole, to put out. Much more appealing to our garden friends! Yay I get to watch the house mouse, so cute :) The birds seem more active in the early afternoon than in the morning.

The hedgehog food is still being eaten each night. I only put a little bit out now. The hedgehogs are probably hibernating, but they can wake up once a week or so to go find a bit of food or move nest, so I don't want to stop putting food and water out over the winter. I've seen next door's cat eating the food a few times, so even if the hedgehog isn't eating it all at least it's not going to waste. I just hope the cat doesn't put on too much weight, haha.

Just opened a letter from the Woodland Trust, and it has a photo of a long-tailed tit on it, hehe. Big silly smile. Gorgeous little floofs. I'll cut it out and stick it in my "pretty things" scrapbook. 

Edit Tuesday 24th - Err so apparently the house mouse is a brown rat, haha. Even if it was a house mouse, I realise we should take steps to discourage them. It's still cute, but don't want them to become a problem so might have to stop feeding the birds and hedgehog for a while... 

I love ecology!

I don't know why I feel a need to apologise every time I don't post in a long while, haha...

I am absolutely loving my college course so far! Particularly all the ecology stuff and species ID. It'd be difficult to find something more up my street unless I did an entire course solely on ecology. Last week I got 100% in the first ID test we had, of 25 trees and shrubs - yay! We're doing one category each half term, so we've now started to learn 35 woodland bird species for a test before Christmas. Thankfully we don't have to learn the scientific names for these, as we did with the trees, so it's easier. But this week the tutor did a see-how-much-you-already-know-before-we-start-learning-them test, and there were only two birds I didn't know, which I was quite chuffed about. It's a shame the species ID is a separate certificate, and doesn't count towards the actual course! But I'm so keen, it's exciting to have something I'm good at and to be learning about things that I love!

We do Estate Skills practical days once every two weeks; I missed the first two due to joining the course late and then being unwell, but so far I've built a bat box, and helped to remove and start to replace a stock-proof fence, and next time we're going to be working on a hedge. The practicals are challenging, obviously because I haven't done anything like it before, but it's quite fun doing something different. I hate wearing the understandably-necessary steel toe capped boots, though, they're too big and clunky and uncomfortable. We're also doing a unit on machinery... so at some point rather soon I'll be having a go at using things like chainsaws and driving tractors!

I am struggling in some areas, though, probably in most. I'm fine with facts and figures, but then actually applying information to things like evaluating a practical task, or creating management objectives for a woodland, or creating a presentation as if you're trying to persuade an MP to encourage more people to get out into the countryside (especially when you know that actually more people usually just creates more issues), I'm finding pretty challenging. I got ever so stressed out a few times in the first month, spending an entire day attempting just one bit of homework at least twice. I know it's early days and I need to somehow learn to not be hard on myself, and to ask for help, and to be okay with submitting homework that I may not be completely happy with. We only have between 10 and 13 hours of face-to-face lessons a week, and I'm not someone who easily learns self-guided. I don't know how to learn, how to study. I go to my classes and do my homework, but don't look at my notes outside of class, read them, rewrite them, arrange them into easier-to-remember blocks of info or whatever, don't do any further research. Are we meant to, is that what people do? That's a rhetorical question; I'm assuming the answer is yes. But nobody tells you these things. I've only just found out what a flash card is. And I'm absolutely no good at 'self-starting' or whatever it's called, making myself do things, setting up a schedule for myself and sticking to it. The course is assessed in a number of ways, all of which I'm nervous about, especially exams, but at least it's not only exams. But the tutors are great and have said they'll go over everything again beforehand, and the college has a study support team I can go to whenever I need help, so hopefully I'll manage.

Anyway, I thought I'd write up some of what I've learned so far! Over different posts, not all in one go, don't worry.

Biomes

A biome is a major biogeographical region, defined by the climate and in turn the predominant vegetation. They're affected by latitude and altitude (how far away they are from the equator, and their height above sea level), and tend to have similar landscapes and wildlife. However, what the different biomes are, how many there are, what the characteristics are, etc., depends entirely on where you look or who you ask. Every map depicting the world's biomes is different and statistics vary. Some maps show five, others a dozen or more. To put it simply, the five major biomes are aquatic, tundra, forest, grassland, and desert (according to National Geographic). But these are all are broad classifications which just give a general biogeographical overview of a large area, and are usually sub-divided further to various extents. 

• Aquatic - can be marine or freshwater, have high biodiversity, marine is world's largest biome. 
• Grassland - open, warm, dry, can be tropical (savannah) or temperate (prairies and steppes). 
• Forest - dominated by trees, high biodiversity, can be tropical (warm and humid, close to equator), temperate (seasonal, mild, often wet), or boreal (cold and dry, close to polar regions). 
• Desert - dry, little vegetation, specialised wildlife, can be hot or cold. 
• Tundra - cold and dry, inhospitable, simple vegetation, specialised wildlife, can be arctic or alpine (in mountains at high altitudes).

The map below shows 10 biomes, and with the different colours you can see how they roughly correspond to latitude.

Map of biomes across the world

The biome covering the UK and most of Europe is "temperate forest" or "temperate deciduous woodland". A place doesn't have to be covered in trees to be part of a "forest" biome; it just means that the dominant plants are trees, and if left alone to their own devices the landscapes would eventually return to woodland. But - fun fact - we do have some tundra and boreal forest here too! They usually cover places like the Arctic and Siberia, so I think that's really cool! In the UK those biomes are only found in one place - the Cairngorms, in Scotland.

The Cairngorms are the eroded stumps of a mountain range far older than the Himalayas. Even at around 50 million years old, ranges like the Himalayas and the Rockies are in geological terms relatively young, and still quite 'pointy'. The Cairngorms are around 400 million years old, and have gradually been eroded to form a plateau - a large, relatively flat area that is raised sharply above the land surrounding it. I've just read on Wikipedia that "evidence suggests that the granite now at the surface was once found to be at a depth of between 4 and 7km." Wow! The high Cairngorm Plateau is where the tundra is, cold, dry, and treeless, and it's surrounded by boreal forest - what remains of the ancient Caledonian Pinewood - at slightly lower altitudes.

How cool is all that? :D Haha. I always loved physical geography.

Lastly - although "woodland" and "forest" are now used interchangeably, the original meaning of 'forest' was just 'an area given over for hunting'. So places like the New Forest, which was set aside by William the Conquerer as one of his numerous private hunting grounds, often aren't an unbroken expanse of trees - in fact trees tend to be a hinderance to giving chase on horseback. A woodland is an area of trees, no matter where it is or how large it is. Funny how language changes.

That'll do for now, methinks! I might write about the history of the countryside next time, that was fascinating.

130 days of daily walks

Thursday 30th July was the 130th day in a row that I went for my daily walk! Yay!

I started counting on Monday 23rd March - the day when lockdown was announced in the evening. I know that 130 days - 18 and a half weeks, just over four months - is nothing for people who have dogs, or who are already in the habit of going for a walk every single day. But it's something of an achievement for me, and I'm quite proud of myself for keeping at it.

Working office jobs over the last four and a half years got me going out for walks at lunchtime to stretch my legs, get some fresh air, and get my eyes away from walls and a computer screen, but sometimes that was only 20 minutes, and it was very easy to just say "Eh, I won't go out today" because it was too rainy or too cold or too hot or I just didn't feel like it. I love walking, but unless I'm meeting friends it's always been very hard to motivate myself to catch a bus and train to get myself out to the countryside at weekends, so taking long leisurely walks or hikes has generally only been something I've done on a few trips, or the odd occasion with family or friends. But, as we in the UK were allowed to go outside for one form of exercise each day during lockdown, I've had the opportunity over the last four months to intentionally go for a walk every day, and in nature instead of along concrete streets.

Bluebells in the wood

I'm very fortunate that I live on the edge of the city and am a five-minute walk away from a mile-long shingle beach. Despite having lived here since August 2018, until this last February I'd only been there a handful of times and only once or twice gone beyond the far end of the beach, where the coast path continues on towards Royal Victoria Country Park. Behind the promenade is a mown-grass field where people can walk their dogs, kick a ball around, have picnics, sunbathe etc.; a bit further along is another grassy area left to go wilder, trodden paths winding through long grasses; and at the far end of that, behind the road behind the beach, is a 150-acre nature reserve with woodland and grasslands. So, having discovered the latter only a few months ago, I've been able to get out into open spaces with water, birds and other wildlife, grass, trees, flowers, and lots of plants and greenery.

I've really loved being able to get out and spend an hour and a half or more outside in the fresh air every day. Nature has always been one of my greatest loves, and for the first time in my life I've been able to let that come to the surface and be part of my daily life. I go slowly, looking, noticing, observing. I don't take a notebook, but take lots of photos and use those as memory prompts, visual notes rather than written, and occasionally make a note on my phone if a picture won't do. I've taken hundreds of photos, uploading some to Facebook to share with family and friends. (And Instagram - the link to that is on the right-hand side of this page.) I kind of wish, though, that I had created a habit of taking a notebook and making notes every day as well, just a short summary and key points, a daily log; they'd be interesting to look back on.

The beach at low tide

On the beach I watch and listen to the waves, and gaze out at the light glinting on the water, glittery and pretty. I watch the swells and how the surface shifts, smooth and glossy like silk or rippling and shivering, rolling and undulating, the waves meeting the shore gently lapping, or stretching up, or crashing with a rush and roar and a tumble of pebbles as they fall back. When the sun's low and the sky blue, the water looks like satin and the softly-breaking waves like molten silver. I've gone paddling in the water several times, which is good fun and helps me to focus on where I am and tune out my thoughts for a while so I'm in the present moment. The beach is prettier when the tide's in, but when the tide's out there are wading birds on the mud flats; gulls and oyster-catchers mainly, plus the occasional egret and some smallish brown birds that were too far away to identify. There was a great crested grebe or two that liked to hang around sometimes when the tide was in, but I haven't seen them for a couple of months, and the swans which made an appearance every now and then in the first few weeks have now reappeared with six fluffy cygnets in tow!

One of my favourite days was 30th April because it was really stormy, with heavy dark clouds and pelting rain. I ventured out that afternoon during a break in the rain, dressed in wellies and waterproof trousers as well as a raincoat. I just reached the shore when it started raining again and lightning flashed a few miles away on the other side of Southampton Water, so I hid against the wall under a balcony at the sailing clubhouse until I was sure that wasn't heading my way. It moved on quickly and some sunlight broke through to shine on the beach and the water, creating an awesome contrast with the slate-dark clouds. I decided it would be fun to walk in the rain, so carried on, and sure enough ten minutes later the water darkened further and the rain moved towards me in sheets. For a minute I didn't put my hood up, just stood there giggling with joy, letting the raindrops land on me and listening to them hit the water and the pebbles and the tarmac and the trees on the path behind. Everything was quiet except for the rain, the wind, the waves, and the birds. It was awesome, so much fun!

Stormy skies

In the woods, I'll stop and watch a bee buzz around, look up and around at the canopy and how the sunlight plays on everything, the contrast with the shadows, or sit on one of the old building foundations for a while and listen to the birds singing, the squirrels scuttling about, and the wind in the leaves. If I catch a nice scent then I take deep breaths, trying to smell as much of it as I can for as long as I can. I've started to learn to identify birds by sight and sound, and flowers and trees. I've seen song thrushes, nuthatches, tree-creepers, and great spotted woodpeckers all for the first time, and jay fledglings. I often hear small creatures squeak and scurry about unseen in the undergrowth, saw a couple of rats once scampering back into the nettles, and two little mice or voles once crossed the path just a few feet in front of me. I was excited to see a kestrel one day, hovering over the little grassland between the road and the tower blocks, and buzzards gliding over the nature reserve.

One joy has been hearing and seeing a fox. There may be and probably is more than one in those woods, but I have no way of knowing. I've heard it twice - a single bark in the first week, and then a month ago I had the amazing experience of listening to it repeatedly barking like 10 metres away for a full 10 minutes. And I've caught a fleeting glimpse of it twice. One day in May I was just sat in my favoured spot as usual and was still and silent for long enough that it thought nobody was around and went wandering, and I caught the movement just in time to look and see its back and tail slip through a gap in the undergrowth five metres away. Then more recently I was walking along one of the paths and heard a sudden scurrying in the dry leaves of the area of wood to my left, looked and saw it bounding away! Amazing.

Magnificent beech trees

I've been able to see the seasons gradually shift from almost-spring to late summer. Wood anemone and lesser celandine gave way to bluebells and blackthorn blossom and dandelions, then to apple and hawthorn blossoms, buttercups, and the forget-me-nots and other wildflowers planted on the verge by the car park, then elderflower, dog roses, honeysuckle, foxglove, and all the wild carrot family. Now even lady's bedstraw, the pea family, and bright yellow ragwort are fading, and blackberries and hazelnuts are starting to ripen. Fuzzy buds on the trees turned into soft, tender, translucent leaves, which took on a glorious almost neon vibrancy for just a couple of days before maturing into thick, dark, heavy foliage. As the sunlight grew stronger and brighter, the woods darkened as the canopy thickened, providing a cool, shadowy refuge from the hot sun. Birdsong increased, then peaked, then lessened again as they found mates and started nesting, and now most of the birds are very quiet as they hide away for molting. A pair of great spotted woodpeckers made a nest in a dead tree right next to the path, so I got some great views of them and the chick. I've seen butterflies in the wood and in the grasslands - speckled wood, orange tip, small heath, marbled white, small white, red admirals, a comma, a small skipper, a gatekeeper, a white admiral, a pale blue/white one on the beach, and some yellowy ones. I've also seen a couple of damselflies by the stream in the woods, and an enormous beetle flying and land on a tree (likely a stag beetle, that's the largest one we have over here). (Did you know that ladybirds are a type of beetle? It hadn't occurred to me before, but of course they are.) I think my favourite types of tree in this wood are the ash and birch, purely because they make a particularly lovely rustle in the wind.

Germander speedwell

As lockdown restrictions eased and we were allowed to drive to different places and see family and friends again, some walks have been elsewhere. A couple, to be honest, weren't walks, but rather afternoons spent in gardens. I counted them because part of the purpose of going for a walk is to get out into nature, be surrounded by it, look at it, notice and observe, and I did those things on those days. I was surrounded by trees and flowers and birds, watched and listened to them, and went round looking closely at the flowers, and the bees and butterflies feeding on them.

I feel very lucky that over the last four months I've been able to spend more time outdoors in nature, delve into it more, learn a bit more about it, and encounter other people who love it too (albeit online, and being an observer rather than joining in by interacting through the comments etc.). It's spurred me to apply for a full-time college course covering ecology, conservation, habitat management, wildlife surveys, etc., something part of me wishes I'd done years ago, so fingers crossed I get accepted onto that. And so many other people have benefited from this opportunity to notice, experience, and connect to nature more, either in more depth, or in new ways, or even for the first time. Long-time nature lovers have been joined by new enthusiasts.

Great spotted woodpecker

The lessened presence, disturbance, and dominance of humans during full lockdown, before restrictions started to be eased, meant that Nature and wildlife had a chance to breathe and relax. For the first few weeks of lockdown the beach was almost empty, I'd pass only a handful of people there and in the woods. No litter. No dog poo. Roads were empty. The sky was empty of aircraft and their contrails. Air and noise pollution levels went right down. Birdsong was more audible. Ground-nesting birds and mammals in places usually only reachable by car were left undisturbed by dogs and walkers while we weren't allowed to drive to take exercise. Grass verges were left un-mown and roadside trees and shrubs un-strimmed (I hate seeing those splintered remains), providing fantastic habitats for wildlife. The building site opposite my flat was empty, and the harsh white safety lights not turned on at night, which was nice for me in that my room was much darker than usual, but it would have also been good for nocturnal flyers like bats and moths. Animals wandered around more, roamed further, felt safer: mountain goats in the streets of Llandudno, seabirds and dolphins in the Venetian canals, fallow deer grazing on the lawns of a London housing estate. The benefit of human lockdown to the natural environment and wildlife has been so obvious that, wonderfully, Thailand's government announced in May that they will be closing all of their national parks for two months every year from now on.

Fairy door

Of course, people have gradually returned. The beach and promenade are busy, with oyster-diggers, fishermen, kite-surfers, jet-skiers, the ice-cream and burger vans, runners, roller-skaters, dog-walkers, families, friends, and people having a nice time. The sounds and smells are just Summer all over so it's quite nice in a way. But with the positives have also returned the negatives. Cars. Pollution. Roadkill. Dog poo. Litter. Litter. Litter.

Nature has been here for many of us over the last few months. As we start to return to "normal", it is time for us to be there for nature, the natural world, the earth, our planet - to show up for it, fight for it. Create a new normal, a better one, not just in terms of our relationship with the natural world but with each other too.

Person sitting on the beach by an oak tree

I'm finishing this post off a week later. We moved over the weekend, out of the city to our mum and stepdad's place in a town more inland, so I'll be taking walks elsewhere from now on. While I'll miss the beach and the nature reserve, and how quick and easy it is to get to them, I'm looking forward to finding some new places and getting to know the countryside around here a bit.

Selfie in the woods

Cornwall, October 2019 - day 4

Friday 25th - Healey's Cyder Farm and Truro

It was my friend's day off, and we'd decided to spend the day at Healey's Cornish Cyder Farm, a small family-run cider producer near Truro. If you've had or heard of Rattler cider (I hadn't), it's made there. They have guided tours, cider tastings, tractor rides of the orchards, apple-pressing to make juice, a restaurant and a tea room, of course a shop, and as it was half-term week they also had a pumpkin patch. There can't be many more quintessentially autumnal things than going somewhere like that.

The visitor centre smelled of apples, and had stacks of multi-packed ciders and juices along the sides for sale. We were disappointed to be told that the pumpkin patch wasn't their own, the pumpkins had been brought in from elsewhere, and that it was really aimed at little kids, but it's good they were honest with us instead of letting us spend money on that particular tour which wouldn't have been worth it. Still, we booked ourselves onto the regular full guided tour, which was £20 for just under two hours, and lingered for 15 minutes in a little seating area, reading the boards about the farm's history, before the tour started at 12.

First stop was the Press House, one of the old buildings in the cobbled courtyard, to see the apple press, a fairly modern machine small and compact enough that you can stand at the finishing end and see whole apples going in at the start only a few metres away. The apples are rinsed as they're fed into it, then shredded, crushed and pulped to extract all the juice, which is then taken off via pipes to one of the numerous large silos outside. What remains, the dry apple pulp, is used for animal feed and farm fertiliser, so nothing is wasted. Here's a short video they made a few years ago showing the process, if you're interested: https://youtu.be/IUH1NELFalY. During harvest season, the press runs for up to 16 hours each day, and it takes around two days to fill one of the 50,000-litre silos, in which the juice is fermented.

The apple press

Next was the Jam Kitchen, where just a couple of people at a time make all of Healey's preserves by hand, getting around 80 jars from a single batch. They had a jar of every item in the range on the counter in front of the kitchen, for sampling, but we didn't get to sample them at that point as there were too many people in the group and it would have taken ages, so the tour guide suggested we come back later if we wanted to try any.

The museum, in the old barn, was interesting, with a number of big old traditional presses dating from the 15th to the 19th centuries, and the tour guide explaining the history and progression of cider-making. Some of it has you grimacing at the, well, grimness. With donkey-drawn presses, the apple pulp that was pushed out of the bowl by the moving wheel had to be scooped up off the ground and put back in - meaning all sorts of nasties were also put into the tray and mixed in with the pulp. In the mid-17th century, many makers started using lead, either as a sweetener in the finished cider, or to line the juice-collecting trays with lead so that the juice wouldn't soak into the wood; around the same time, a mysterious "colic" became very widespread, and it was over a hundred years before someone figured out that it was lead poisoning. But in general, alcoholic beverages were safer to drink than water, simply because the water used to make them had been boiled and so the germs killed. Many farmers used to pay their seasonal labourers at least partly with cider, and the best cider-makers got the best workers. The museum also had a little corner made up to be like a cooper's workshop, the craft of the cooper - the barrel-maker - being one of many traditional skills that are fading.

Old apple presses in the museum

After the museum was the distillery, where they make a small range of spirits. I can't remember any info about that, but it was interesting. Next was down into the chilly, dimly-lit, barrel-stacked cellar, where they had a little bar set up and gave each of us a really cute little mini glass tankard only about 5cm tall with a smiley face embossed on the bottom. All of the several samples were nice - ranging from a few types of modern cider, to brandy, to elderflower wine, to a new limited-edition pineapple cider - but I preferred the traditional scrumpy. I was sad that only the children were offered samples of the apple (and apple-and-rhubarb) juice, but I wasn't brave enough to ask for some. The guide pointed out some little black spots on some of the wooden beams and explained that it was caused by the evaporating fumes from the barrels, and eventually the beams would all be covered, would all be black.

The barrel cellar

We were taken back to the visitor centre, where the tour guide opened up the door in the big barrel-vat installation which makes up part of the front of the building. Inside was a staircase winding upwards around an actual modern vat, and at the top of that was a walkway, from which you can look down at the goings-on in the storage and distribution warehouse and then the production plant, where all the drinks are bottled and packaged. It was cool. There were information boards around, explaining the whole production process from orchard to bottle, and some other things as well which I can't remember. I should have taken pictures of more than just the first one, it would have been interesting to remember and write about. The tour guide let us wander round for a while, watching the happenings below and reading the boards, then called us back to a little counter in one of the corners, where she had set up two sets of those tiny little plastic sampling cups full of apple juice, from two different varieties of apples. She explained that juices often need to be mixed together so that the end product has a nice balanced taste, instead of being a tad too sour or dry or sweet. When we had tasted half of each cup of juice, she told us to pour the juice from one cup into the other so they were mixed together, and try that. While the individual juices on their own had been fine, the mixed one was definitely nicer, you could tell the difference.

The tour finished with a tractor-trailer ride through the orchards, which was nice. There was interesting commentary, but I can't remember any of it and there isn't much information on their website I can use to tell you about the orchards.

Fallen apples in one of the orchards

By this point it was nearly 2:30pm, and high time for lunch. We went to The Old Bottlery restaurant, a really nice, bright, dog-friendly space with a huge old barrel-vat for a bar and a wood-burning stove in the centre. The table next to the fire was of course already occupied so we sat at a table near the counter, away from the door. The place was maybe half-full, not quiet but not busy either, happily. My friend opted for a cream tea, which included two enormous homemade scones, while I found exactly the sort of thing I was hoping for in a cyder-roasted ham and homemade-appleslaw sandwich, the filling almost overflowing from between slices of proper thick-cut locally-made wholegrain bread. Plus, as part of the tour, we'd been given a voucher for a free drink in the restaurant and I used mine to get a bottle of their apple juice. All was yum! :) It'd be a great place to go for a Sunday roast, too.

Ham and appleslaw sandwich

Next and final stop was the shop. While the scrumpy had been nice, and they sold small flagons of it and the cute mini tankards, and they also sold nice fruit wines like strawberry, I knew I wouldn't drink all of anything I bought. So I headed instead for the preserves section, and immediately wished I'd gone back to the jam kitchen to sample some things before coming to the shop. They have a range of 25 different preserves and, although I was definitely going to buy some marmalade, there were several others which sounded good and I knew they'd all be great quality. In the end I went for plum jam, as I'll always remember how delicious the plum jam I helped make on the farm in Canada was. I was a bit disappointed the next day, when spooning some of the jam out onto some toast, to find that the plums were whole (minus stones) so actually it wouldn't spread very much or last very long, and it wasn't as delicious and flavoursome as my Canadian one. Oh well. The marmalade is perfect :)

Leaving Healey's, we headed towards Truro, Cornwall's county town, administrative and retail centre, and only city. The drive through the winding country lanes was an autumn extravaganza. There were trees everywhere, mostly beeches, and the colours were stunning. The earlier rain meant that everything was now glinting and glimmering in the liquid gold of the setting sun, beautifully contrasted against the darkened tarmac and tree trunks and richly-coloured leaves and the lingering slate-grey clouds :)

It started raining again when we got there. I hadn't been there before and knew nothing about it; it seems like a nice place and I'd like to visit it properly one day. I liked the old buildings, wishing (as I always do) that I could see them as they were in their original time, without the concrete and roads and cars and modern stuff. We happened across the cathedral - didn't even know the place had one - and ducked inside out of the rain, and wandered around for a while. I love places like that, peaceful and quiet and architecturally beautiful. There was a little exhibition on there, too, about climate change and eco-responsible lifestyles and what local groups are doing, which I liked.

Once my friend had bought what she needed to, it was late afternoon and the shops were starting to close, and it was still raining, so we couldn't stay and explore. Will have to go back another time!

Inside Truro Cathedral