11th May to 18th June.
And there they were, the very next day, which was one of those perfect glorious pristine dazzling May days, those spring butterflies I had been expecting before then, little green hairstreaks and orange pearl-bordered fritillaries, as new and perfect as all life appears in the Spring on a sunny day. And that never ceases to amaze me, after the cold and dark and wet of winter that things as bright and delicate and beautiful as a butterfly can come out of it. Not just butterflies, everything seems, is, so bright and fresh and new in spring, all the more so in May sunshine.
The green hairstreak will have spent almost ten long months in the chrysalis stage of its life cycle. The adult butterfly is on the wing usually from late April (late then this year) until late June here in the northwest, during this time the eggs are laid and the caterpillar will hatch and feed for about three short weeks before finding a place on the ground among stones or moss and leaves at the base of a tree or among the leaves of its larval host plant where it will then spend those long months in its protective chrysalis.
Pearl-bordered fritillaries spend the winter, and the summer and the autumn, eleven months altogether, as a caterpillar. It is therefore, here in the northwest anyway, a truly spring butterfly, coming out of hibernation in the early spring to feed on the leaves of violets and to bask in the sun for a short while before becoming a chrysalis, emerging as an adult butterfly usually in early May. They are on the wing also into mid June. Just for those six weeks or so of spring are these two butterflies butterflies.
How can we take for granted something as amazing and magical as that transformation that occurs from a caterpillar into a butterfly? How can any one not be in awe of nature.
As I walk into a place of nature, say a wood, whatever I had in my head, which is all too often far too much, and whatever purpose I have ahead of me, nature soon has cast her spell and all becomes only what is there, nothing more, as I wander in wonder, the calm and peace of nature replaces all thoughts and all sense of self, you are in the wood and the wood is in you, there is nothing else, just the here and now of nature. How can anyone not feel and benefit from being enveloped in natures peace. It is like a drug, and it is the only drug that I need. All those voices and pictures in your head, all of our self made worries and trivial concerns and desires are replaced, gone, all of your senses are gently assailed by all that is there, the wood, the trees, bird song, the song of streams, the songs of the trees. All that you can see is within the wood, and all of the wood is within you. And it is the same if on the side of a mountain, or on the bank of a river, or by the sea.
I wrote of how quickly the spring passes, and that has been so again this year. I was out today, it was blustery, with showers. A clouds shadow raced across the field I was in, followed by the sun. The winter passes like that cloud, as quickly, and the spring follows like the sun that came after it. And another cloud will see the sun on its way as quickly again, and so on.
It has been two seasons again, spring and at the same time summer. The freshness of spring, I always think, lasts until about now, the third week of June, then it is summer time truly. I have not yet seen that little gem of a summer butterfly, the common blue, when I do, I always know then that summer is here.
How can I write in a few short paragraphs what has gone on these past few weeks, how can I remember all that I’ve seen, I can’t. May was as the rest of the spring has been, unsettled. But all that is needed for May to shine, and it does shine, it is as though all that bright new life and all the land and even the blue sky and white cloud had been polished, is the sun, and there were sunny days, just not strung together like last years May that was almost flawlessly blue and sunny throughout.
In the woods, as though made of May, made for May, bright green, white and yellow wood warblers. Males sing and perform fluttering song flights beneath the oak wood canopy. And what a song, sung in two parts, and I’m not sure which part I love the most. It has the most amazing loud sharp metallic pulsating trill that starts slowly and accelerates to a sudden end. Described in one guide book as being like a spinning coin on a marble slab, but I prefer the description a friend once gave it, which I can’t remember exactly , but it was something like that it is like a glass marble being dropped onto a mirror. This vibrant trill that the bird seems to put every fibre of its body into is followed by the softest, sadness sweetest series of whistled notes, like a kind of melancholy song of pleading, teoo-teoo-too-too-too-too. A true beauty of the oak wood. As is the more flamboyantly plumed redstart, brick red, jet black and smoke grey with a striking white eye stripe. Males sing from prominent song posts up on the wood roof, and although his song always starts the same, it always seems to end with a different flurry of notes. Wood warbler and redstart, two summer migrants.
A relative of the redstart, lichen grey, black and white, sings his scratchy song among the bouldery places and rocky slopes around the bases of the hills, high above the moors, wheatears. Here too, twite, little finches. And mountain wrens, and mountain pipits. And there, watching me, I see you, lady fox, have you cubs among the rocks, you did last year. High above on the mountains flat top, shylark rise higher still to sing in the sky, as they do. And nervous golden plover call out at you from prominent knolls, they want you to see them and hear them there, because that’s where they are, but not where their nest is.
On upland lochans, mallard and teal with broods of ducklings, noisy common sandpipers around the shores, common gulls sitting on tiny rock islet nests. And just this week, now the second week of June, what luck, what good timing, a greenshank mother with four tiny mobile chicks, perhaps just two or three days old, and I’d come especially to see them too, so was delighted. She stayed close to her brood, whilst the male was kept busy keeping out of his territory another pair of greenshank from a neighbouring lochan. Had they bred and failed? Whatever, they were making a nuisance of themselves. Lovely elegant vocal charismatic moorland waders, a favourite.
June then, and beautiful damsels and emerald dragons. Along sunny hill streams, in narrow river ravines, full of light, what was that, what are they, fluttering butterfly like, looking like…fairies? You might think so, and might like to think so, why not. But they are damselflies, the biggest we have in this country, beautiful demoiselles. The males are the most amazing dark blue colour, and have an amazing metallic sheen. Females are equally spectacular, but are a metallic green. And the dragons…rare northern emerald dragonflies, I see just a few each year, and some years none at all, so it is nice when you go out looking for them and find them. There are other dragonflies on the wing, four-spotted chasers, and golden ringed, and keeled skimmers – the males a lovely pale blue. And other damsels too, large red and common blue. But fewer this year, a poor year for both them and butterflies, a poor spring any way, a late spring.
The weather has been better this month so far, though with some very heavy down pours – how did that mother greenshank manage to shelter her little brood, how do butterflies and delicate damsels survive in such weather? Otherwise much more sunshine.
There are now young birds everywhere, some you see and hear more of than others. Noisy starlings join together and fly about as one big family, they have had a good year in the village. There are families of blue tit and great tit about, and I have seen the young of both on their own and independent already. Before long they will band together along with the young of other species and roam about in big groups for the rest of the summer and into the autumn. Mother eiders in twos and threes herd their fluffy brown youngsters into big crèches, I’m always amazed to see these plucky little ducklings diving at such a young age. A fine female goosander led her brood away from the lochshore when I came across her suddenly, nine pretty babies, that also disappeared under the water when their parent dived.
The singing is almost over again, the sparrows outside our window at 4am or earlier…chip-chup-chirp-chup-chup-chip-chip-churp-chirp…and so on and on and on and on, they have gone quiet, as have most other birds, and all will by the end of this month.
What else…a rare bird, maybe two, with a lovely song that drew attention to it being here, male scarlet rosefinch. One spent ten days or so in and around the village, with another, or the same bird, about four miles away. A pair of black throated divers, they are really handsome graceful birds, perhaps they bred and failed, and are down from their breeding loch early. An otter along a sparkling sea shore, and sea eagles, one along the same shore putting up the gulls, and two adults up in the blue one afternoon.
So, spring has gone again, almost, and summer is here, just about. One season again, for just a few weeks, that’s all. There are summer butterflies on the wing, small pearl-bordered fritillaries, small heath, with others to come soon, like meadow brown and dark-green fritillaries, among others (though not yet any common blues), and spring butterflies are almost at an end. And there have been many painted ladies too, a good year for them throughout Britain.
The rush is almost over, though not for all, some birds are still building their first nests, like house martins, that were late, but for most the rush is over. It will settle down now as we drift into the fullness of summer. If a year were a day, then it is mid day, and we are heading into the early afternoon, summer is like that time of the day.
