I did think about hashtagging this post as #SpawnHub but…
As regular Sciencebase readers will know, I re-dug our garden pond in May 2019 (you can read about Operation Sciencebase Pond here, #PondLife). We’ve always seen frogs in the garden even when the pond was filled, but in 2020 there were at least nine using the refreshed pond. Spring of 2021, we had our first spawn in years, noted it on the 5th March, although there may have been some that appeared earlier and sunk.
On 21st February 2022, Matt was in the garden after dark and noticed two pairs of frogs and a dollop of spawn. I took a quick snap of one pair. I know it’s not a big deal, but it is rather gratifying to see new life beginning to emerge thanks to one’s small-scale efforts at wilding a garden. Lot’s or ram’s horn aquatic snails visible in the pond after dark too.
I recommend anyone who has the space (and you don’t need a lot, a Belfast sink or old tin bathtub in a backyard would do) to create a wildlife pond. I am planning my seeding for the garden already having said goodbye to our “digger” in January. I am also hoping to create a sloped edge from the pond that has a slight incline to allow a swamp-type area to develop away from the house. This will provide even greater, smallscape diversity and potentially attract other flora and fauna to the garden. Who knows what might turn up or self-seed.
You can track the nationwide progress of frog spawning here.
TL:DR – I had a whimsical idea that some winter species of moth might be drawn to the whiteness of snowdrop flowers in the dark and so help pollinate these plants. It’s unlikely to be true.
Snowdrops are often considered the heralds of Spring, the first floral buds to open in woodland, churchyard, and garden. Spotting the first snowdrops of the year is often a challenge that has become something of a citizen science climate marker in recent years. We sometimes have a clump of the generic type, if there is such a thing, that pops up in a patio pot around this time of year, but other people report earlier appearances. Of course, there are also strains that naturally flower early too, just to confuse the picture. There were certainly a lot around in early February in various places I was walking and snapping.
Anglesey Abbey snowdrops
Of course, many readers will know all too well that there are many different species and strains of the Galanthus plant. Mrs Sciencebase and I often take the short trip to the National Trust’s Anglesey Abbey in the spring. It is perhaps the nearest place where we might see more than a few of the different types of snowdrop, species, strains, cultivars. Indeed, there’s a cultivar of the common snowdrop Galanthus nivalis, named for the “Abbey”.
Snowdrops generally have a pair of linear leaves sprouting from a subterranean bulb and usually produce a single droopy white flower with a bell shape. There are also wonderfully delicate green markings familiar to anyone who has taken a close look at those flowers. These vary considerably between the different types of snowdrop.
Incidentally, the emergence of green shoots in spring is known as vernalisation from the Latin for spring, vernalis, from where we also get the phrase vernal equinox. But, of course, closely linked to the Latin for green, viridis, from where we get verdant. Anyway, verdant features aside, the flowers of the snowdrop are fairly unusual in that they are mostly white unlike so many other flowers. They also tend to appear well before the northern vernal equinox, which falls on the 20th or 21st March each year.
But, why white, why not red, purple, yellow, blue or indeed any of myriad colours we see in the flowers of other plant species. There are lots of yellow and violet ground cover plants in the spring that bloom before the leaf buds open on the trees. Well, fundamentally, as lovely as we might find flowers, they’re not really meant for us. They evolved over millions of years to attract pollinators, creatures that would assist in the process of transferring pollen from one flower to the receptive parts of another so that fertilisation might occur, seed be set and new plants emerge. Pollinators tend to be invertebrates, bees, famously, but wasps too, butterflies and moths, beetles, flies, and various other types of insect as well as other creatures in less common instances.
Snowdrops emerge when it is rather cold and the earth frozen or even snow encrusted. The name of the most well-known snowdrop species, Galanthus nivalis, means “milk flower of the snow”. In ancient times it was called the white violet by Theophrastus in the 4th Century BCE. The name is not to be confused with the white spring violets, the snowflakes (Leucojum), which resemble the snowdrops but are at least twice as tall and differ in leaf structure.
The time when snowdrops emerge is a time when there are few pollinating insects on the wing with the exception of the odd, exploratory queen bumblebee and perhaps an occasional peacock butterfly emerging early from winter hibernation. Of course, it is worth noting that snowdrops are not native species to the British Isles and in other regions where it is native, Europe and the Middle East, its mileage may vary in terms of pollination opportunities.
There is evidence that while snowdrops do attract bumblebees and flies that pollinate, their downward drooping flowers evolved that drooping posture perhaps to protect them from bad weather. The delicate green markings, it seems, did evolve later to guide pollinators to the business end of the flower. That said, the plants do need pollinators and they do have flowers for that very purpose.
So, going back to the whiter than white nature of those flowers. There is a hypothesis that the reason the snowdrop has such bright white flowers is to attract nocturnal pollinators. Certain species of night-flying moth that might be around in the earliest days of the spring might be attracted to a glowing white apparition shimmering in a moonlit churchyard or woodland and feed on the nectar. In so doing they would, as do many other pollinators, inadvertently pick up pollen on their bodies and transport it unwittingly from flower to flower. Unfortunately, this seems like an almost mythical hypothesis and at the time of writing I have not yet found much evidence to suggest that moths are attracted in this way or indeed that snowdrops glow in the dark at all!
Maybe they mistyped and were after OSRS, meaning Orbital Structural Reference System. They may have got it back to front and were after RES/OS, defined in the US Navy as Reserve-Out of Service.
Perhaps the visitors hit the s instead of the d and they were actually looking for something historical: Osred I of Northumbria (c. 697 – 716), king of Northumbria or perhaps Osred II of Northumbria, (789 to 790).
I thought perhaps that it was a given name as I found at least one Facebook account with Osres used before a surname…who knows?
Well, that was a nice birthday treat…just seen a DHL flight that seemed to be almost overhead, but was actually over Cambourne about 12 miles away. According to the Plane Finder flight tracker it is travelling from Brussels to Miami at an altitude of about 7 miles at 360 knots, so not delivering my presents. The vapour trail did not persist for long, dissipating within ten minutes or so.
The above is a cropped photo taken with a 600mm zoom on a 2/3-frame camera (zoom equivalent to 900mm, digital crop to 1800mm). Odd the perspective one has looking at the jet flying over. It seems so high, but it’s not as high (7 miles) as it is far away (12 miles) if one were to travel from here to the town over which it was flying when I took the photo. So camera to aeroplane distance is about 14 miles, using Pythagoras.
As I finish writing this post I can see the pilot has changed heading slightly and has just flown over the Lake District.
It’s been a while since I posted anything in my Classic Chords series, a selection of (in)famous guitar chords from the world of rock and pop that stand out from the crowd and seem iconic of the artist that used them whether Rush’s Alex Lifeson, Pink Floyd’s Dave Gilmour, or this one, a B-minor (add 4) [B-D-F#-E). If it had an A in it you could call it a D6/9 as one chording website does, but I don’t think it does so a Bm(add4) it is or an E7-sus2.
This little box of a chord is archetypal Prince funk featuring in the classic…Kiss.
Here’s how it sounds on my Telecaster. I just want your extra time and your…chord:
I asked a “plot generator” website to come up with a story based on a couple of dozen words I input. This is what it came up with:
The sleet that rained like chatting lizards
Matt Trescothik was thinking about Jenny Slaughden again. Jenny was a kind juggler with dirty lips and ugly arms. Matt walked over to the window and reflected on his picturesque surroundings. He had always hated damp Wivenhoe with its energetic, excited estuaries. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel puzzled.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a kind figure of Jenny Slaughden. Matt gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a deranged, splendid, wine drinker with hairy lips and ample arms. His friends saw him as a bulbous, bewildered brute. Once, he had even rescued a silent old man from a burning building.
But not even a deranged person who had once rescued a silent old man from a burning building, was prepared for what Jenny had in store today.
The sleet rained like chatting lizards, making Matt unstable. Matt grabbed a cursed hat that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers. As Matt stepped outside and Jenny came closer, he could see the good smile on her face. Jenny gazed with the affection of 5729 intelligent damaged dogs. She said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want work.”
Matt looked back, even more unstable and still fingering the cursed hat. “Jenny, I like your toes,” he replied. They looked at each other with ambivalent feelings, like two mighty, magnificent mice rampaging at a very greedy accident, which had jazz music playing in the background and two bold uncles sitting to the beat.
Matt studied Jenny’s dirty lips and ugly arms. Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” began Matt in apologetic tones, “but I don’t feel the same way, and I never will. I just don’t love you Jenny.” Jenny looked barmy, her emotions raw like a grisly, gloopy guitar.
Matt could actually hear Jenny’s emotions shatter into 5009 pieces. Then the kind juggler hurried away into the distance. Not even a glass of wine would calm Matt’s nerves tonight.
THE END
The site also generates reviews (auto praise) of your “story”
“I feel like I know Matt Trescothik. In a way, it feels as though I’ve always known him.” — The Daily Tale
“About as enjoyable as being hailed on whilst taking in washing that has been targeted by seagulls with the squits.” — Enid Kibbler
“Saying the sleet rained like chatting lizards is just the kind of literary device that makes this brilliant.” — Hit the Spoof
My very good friend, photographer Diana Sanders took a lovely shot of a yellow crocus growing wild near her home. She posted the photo to acclaim on her Facebook describing it as:
Like a candle flame amongst the dead leaves. If we get any more hard frosts it won't look so cheerful, though.
The Feral Crocus (Photo by Diana Sanders)
It triggered me to write a short poem:
The Feral Crocus
A feral crocus nestles among the long-dead leaves
A glimmer of hope, a tiny, shining candle of life
Its flame burns bright among those oaken thieves
Their dew can’t steal this golden light
But Arctic winds might rustle those chilling leaves
And times are hard and so could be the frost
The dew that’s stilled will begin to freeze
And snuff that flame then forever lost
Still, there is hope as it is overcast
The cloud-filled skies blanket all below
The bloom won’t face an icy blast
And tomorrow, we can bask in that feral crocus glow
The Chinese Water Deer (Hydropotes inermis inermis) is not a species native to the UK as its name might suggest. It’s an Asian species related to the Korean Water Deer (Hydropotes inermis argyropus). There are numerous CWDs in England that are descended from escapees from Whispnade Zoo in the 1920s.
I saw a couple of them on the recently opened new section of RSPB Ouse Fen this morning. Coincidentally, the deer was mentioned on the BBC’s One Show on 31st January. The genus name Hydropotes derives from the Greek meaning “water drinker”. The inermis component of the scientific name comes from the Latin meaning unarmed, alluding to the animal’s lack of antlers. It is worth noting that both male and female adults have protruberant upper canines, which look rather menacing despite the animals rather “Teddy Bear” facial features leading to it being referred to as as a Vampire Deer in some camps. The canines in the two females I espied today were not particularly prominent.
We do like to be beside the seaside, especially the North Norfolk seaside. We took the opportunity for a couple of days of long walks there. Sad that our pooch is no longer with us, but it meant we managed almost 20 miles of tramping over two days.
Hopping Oystercatcher, Snettisham…and, taking flightSanderlings snuggling on Snettisham beach…and also taking flightTurnstone having a plodge in between stone-turning sessionsBacklit Curlew in flight near Heacham, NorfolkOne of dozens of Brent Geese over HeachamTucked-up TealTitchwell DunlinGrey Plover, RSPB TitchwellLittle Grebe, RSPB TitchwellPintail, RSPB TitchwellA coupla CurlewRed Kite with carrion evading Marsh HarrierShelduck, RSPB TitchwellWild Ken HillHolkhamLady Anne Drive, Holkham
We did attempt to spot the juvenile White-tailed (Sea) Eagle that is jaunting between Cley and Stiffkey at the moment. It is a released bird from the Isle of Wight reintroduction scheme.