“I cannot endure to waste anything
so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.” Nathaniel Hawthorne.
The American Notebooks.
Mushrooms appeared last week in
the garden. Proof, if required, as to how wet it’s been in the last month.
Beauties too, though I didn’t eat them, fearing death just a little too much. Magnificent
things, mushrooms. A miracle of nature really, created if not quite from thin
air, then from spores so not far off. The dampness hasn’t been too inspiring
really. Autumn in London is often dry and sunny, one of the nicest times of the
year, but it hasn’t really got going yet. Yesterday, being one of the first dry
and sunny days of the month, inspired this article. I hope there will be more.
Autumnal sunshine is indeed a marvel, reflecting the reds and browns of the
leaves and berries. A last hurrah by nature before winter’s nakedness manifests.
The garden has become a bit
livelier, the plethora of birds, no doubt persuaded by the presence of peanuts
and seeds. The squirrel-proof peanut feeder is, in fact, nothing of the sort. By a
series of contortions that Houdini would have been proud of, it manages to
access the peanuts through the cage. I don’t care for grey squirrels, but I admire
their determination and ability. A little bit like how I feel about Owen
Farrell, the English rugby player. Like all non-native species they are
destructive, responsible for the disappearance of the native red squirrel from
much of the UK and they damage trees and eat birds’ eggs. Not their fault,
they’re just following their nature but they’re a menace. If successive
governments actually cared or did anything useful for the environment, a major
culling of grey squirrels would have happened decades ago, but of course, they
don’t really.
The other squirrel-proof feeder
does work. A seed dispenser that closes when the squirrel jumps on it, it
provides amusing entertainment. Favoured by robins, coal tits and great tits,
half of the seeds drop to the ground as they discard them in all directions
with energetic disdain, particularly the coal tit. This provides an easy meal
for the woodpigeon (another menace), the delightful collared doves, my friend
the dunnock and of course, the squirrel. That I don’t mind so much as it’s more
democratic.
It’s a
pleasure to have some birds back again in the garden. Tits; blue, great, coal
and the occasional long-tailed - with their ball of wool on a knitting needle
silhouette - bring much charm and energy. The Robin has started it’s
melancholy, wistful song, a true measure of autumn. A blackbird picks at worms
on the still soft grass. There are snails aplenty and some spiders though the main
and biggest spider which has been around for at least a month wasn’t there last
night. Unlikely to have been predated it has either moved on or passed on it
would seem. At this time of year, I leave the slugs and snails to it as there’s
nothing really left for them to destroy. Drowning them in beer as I do in
summer, seems an unnecessary cruelty and a waste of beer. Proof that there are
still flying insects around came in the presence of a bat last week at dusk.
Watching bats is truly mesmerising and it was wonderful seeing it this late in
the season. Unfortunately, I don’t know which type. There are several species
in North London, but it was a thrill to see it as there were less this summer
than in previous years.
Yesterday’s
sun seems like a distant memory. I pray it returns soon. Like Nathaniel
Hawthorn, I want to get out the house.
