Wednesday Weed – Dog Rose

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Every Wednesday, I hope to find a new ‘weed’ to investigate. My only criterion will be that I will not have deliberately planted the subject of our inquiry. Who knows what we will find…..

Dog Rose (Rosa canina)

Dog Rose (Rosa canina) back in June

Dear Readers, it seems only a few weeks since I took some photos of the dog rose in bloom in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery, but the date on my camera says mid-June. How fast time goes, especially as you get older! When I walked around the cemetery today, the roses had been replaced by a harvest of rose hips, more than I have ever seen. When the redwings and fieldfares get here ( and I do believe I spotted one flying over this afternoon) they are going to have a feast.

Rose hips today

The dog rose is by far the commonest wild rose in most of England and Wales, so common in fact that it’s often seen as a bit of a prickly-stemmed nuisance. And yet it has a delicate beauty all of its own, with its pale pink to white flowers and that lovely tuft of stigma in the centre.

I wondered if the dog rose was the model for the white rose of the House of York, but the always-informative Richard Mabey says no: the rose used by Richard III was apparently a hybrid of the native field rose (Rosa arvensis) and the damask rose (Rosa x damascena). Apparently no common briar was going to be selected as the symbol of a noble family, which is rather a shame in my view. If I had a coat-of-arms, I think I would incorporate teasel, dandelion, green alkanet and comfrey, with a fox rampant to top it all off, and maybe a pigeon.

Why ‘dog rose’, though? There are several theories about the etymology of the name. For some, ‘dog’ means ‘worthless’ – in other words the plant was a poor relative of the blousy cultivated roses that were all the rage.  However, an alternative explanation suggests that it was believed that the root was a cure for the bite of a wild dog, and in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries it was used in this way.

Mabey tells of an old riddle passed on from gardener to gardener, to enable them to identify the different kinds of native roses at an early stage. The one that identifies the dog rose goes as follows:

On a summer’s day, in sultry weather,

Five brethren were born together.

Two had beards and two had none,

And the other had but half a one.

Did you get it yet? No, me neither. But the riddle refers to the sepals of the dog rose – the green parts that enclose the bud before it opens, and which gently peel back to allow the flower to develop. In the dog rose, two of these have a ‘fringe’, two are smooth, and one has a fringe, but only on one side. The sepals in the photo above are not clear enough for me to check this out, but I will have to put a note in my diary to remember next year. I love these pieces of ancient lore – there’s always a frisson of excitement when I realise that something has been handed down to me from hundreds of years earlier, like a handshake from the past.

I have talked about the value of rose hips as a source of vitamin C before, in my post about sweetbriar, but the hips of dog rose have been used even more widely as the plant is so much more common and widespread. It was planted in Victory Gardens in the US during the Second World War, and is used to make a sweet wine in Bulgaria, amongst other places.

I was delighted to read that in Slovenia in the 1950’s, a soft drink called Cockta was manufactured in an attempt to provide the population of what was then Yugoslavia with a new  soft drink. As Coca Cola was not sold in the region, it was felt that there was a gap in the market that a beverage made from locally grown plants could fill. Even today, Cockta is sixth in a list of the 25 biggest brands in Slovenia. I must say that it sounds rather delicious. Even today, I remember the taste of Delrosa Rosehip Syrup from when I was a child. What could be nicer than the same thing with bubbles?

Cockta Cocktail, anyone? (Photo One – credit below)

Any plant that has lived alongside us for as long as dog rose is bound to have a range of superstitions associated with it. It was once believed that a late-flowering branch of dog rose presages an outbreak of plague, and also that any plans made within earshot of a dog rose are bound to go astray. During the month of June, when the dog rose is usually in flower, it was dangerous to the flowers come too close to the eyes as it would cause blindness. If you were accidentally bashed about the ears with the blossom, the result would be painful earache. I would love to rewind history and see how exactly these beliefs grew up. Was it just by association, or by rumour, or was there a kernel of truth to some of these stories? My mind is sometimes fairly boggled, although a lot of the things that we currently believe will no doubt seem equally odd to the generations that come after us (if we haven’t totally screwed up the entire planet by then, of course).

In Austrian traditional medicine dog rose hips are used to treat kidney complaints and infections, and recently an extract of rose hip has been shown to be beneficial in the treatment of painful osteoarthritis. What a boon it would be if this could be explored further. Arthritis has been a scourge of humanity for as long as we have existed, so anything that helps to alleviate its symptoms without the side effects of so many painkillers would be a wonderful thing.

The rose hip is, of course, the fruit of the rose – each hip contains hundreds of tiny seeds. What I didn’t realise was how long these seeds to take to germinate – those of the dog rose need to go through two cold winter periods before they will rouse themselves into action. But the hip itself contains tiny hairs which can be used as itching powder – just as well my brother and I didn’t realise this when we were children, or the results might have been most irritating.

Finally, I cannot leave the subject of the dog rose without noting that in Sweden they make a sweet soup from the hips, called Nyponsoppa. This is apparently a combination of dried rose hips, potato flour (to thicken), sugar and water, and the mixture is eaten with vanilla ice cream and little almond biscuits. Sadly the vitamin C content, which is destroyed when the soup is boiled, is much reduced, but I must say it looks rather tasty. However, I shall be leaving the rosehips in the cemetery (and, indeed, the ones in my garden, to the thrushes, and to any passing waxwings. Normally hedges are cut before the hips get a chance to develop, so it’s a treat to see them. I shall be keeping watch to see who comes to visit..

A lovely bowl of Nyponsoppa with almond biscuits (Photo Two – credit below)

Photo Credits

Photo One: By JIP (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Two: By Johan Jönsson – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7101277

All other photos copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share non-commercially, but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you!

 

 

Late Summer Fox Update

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Dear Readers, as you know I’ve been hard at work on my CELTA qualification for the past month. I’m delighted to say that the course is now finished, and I should hear whether I’ve passed or not early next week (though I think they would have told me if I was in any danger of failing). However, for the past month my fox watching time has been severely limited – my friend B has been medicating and feeding the foxes as usual, and I’ve been popping in at the weekend to see how they’re doing.

Dog fox in mid August

On an early visit I was distressed to see that the dog fox appeared to have been in a fight – he had bite marks on his haunches, and seemed a little subdued, though he was moving without obvious signs of pain. It’s a time of year when families are breaking up and young foxes are looking for new territories, but the wounds could also have been caused by a close encounter with a dog. Although people are supposed to keep their animals on a lead in the cemetery, it’s surprising how many just folk just let their dogs run all over the graves, as if the place was just a big park rather than the last resting place of over a million souls.

The adolescent cubs were just as gangly and curious as ever, though, and the mange problem seemed to be better. So, although I was concerned about the dog fox, there was little either B or I could do. He certainly wasn’t going to sit around while we dressed his wounds.

On a later visit, things were looking much better.

I caught a glimpse of the dog fox running past with a dead bird in his mouth – it was about blackbird-sized. I always underestimate how omnivorous these animals are: I also saw one nibbling on the blackberries that are just emerging. B reported that she hadn’t seen them so often at the feeding site, so this is another indication that it’s summertime, and the living is (relatively) easy. I was pleased to see that the bites (you can’t really see them in the photo above) are pretty much healed.

Another of this year’s cubs is still hanging around – cubs, especially vixens, don’t necessarily disperse until the winter really gets going, and the breeding season starts again. The siblings are often very rowdy though, and judging by the yelps and squeals coming from my garden at night, they are beginning to get rather irritated with one another.

The dog fox reappeared after finishing off his avian appetiser, and he and the cub  stared at me for a while, as if trying to work out why I was standing there with my camera. What I was doing, it later transpired, was being a feeding source for the biting flies that hang around the feeding site – there were four bites on a single vein on my foot and another great lump on my ankle by the end of the evening. That’ll teach me not to wear socks on my fox expeditions.

My admiration for the foxes grows and grows – they are tough, adaptable, intelligent and enigmatic. No wonder they are the most widespread predator in the world (apart from us, of course). Their success is down to the way that they can make the best of almost any situation. I’m glad that I’ll have a bit more time now to get back to the cemetery and see how they are all doing. I’ve missed them, and the little community of humans who gather there, a lot.

All photos copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share non-commercially, but please attribute to me, and link back to the blog, thank you!

Wednesday Weed – Snapdragon

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Every Wednesday, I hope to find a new ‘weed’ to investigate. My only criterion will be that I will not have deliberately planted the subject of our inquiry. Who knows what we will find…..

Snapdragon (Antirrhinum majus) growing at the bottom of a wall in the County Roads, East Finchley

Dear Readers, this is obviously a garden plant, rather than a wild one, but it is one of the first flowers that I remember being able to identify when I was a child. When I was little, we visited our grandmother who lived in Forest Gate every week, and would often play in the garden. The flowers from the snapdragon were great fun: my brother and I would pick up blooms that had just dropped and chase one another around the garden with them, ‘snapping’ as we went. I also noticed the way that the bumblebees would hang on the bottom ‘lip’ of the flower before wriggling their way in. When they came out, they often had powdery pollen on their backs from the dangling stamen. It was my first lesson in the way that a plant is often structured perfectly to match the insect that visits it.

This particular plant is growing in a tiny crack at the bottom of a wall just up the road from where I live in East Finchley. Although the leaves are stunted and diseased, the flowers are full-size, and it’s clear that the plant has put all its energy into reproduction. I hope that its ‘children’ find a more fruitful place to grow than it has.

Antirrhinum majus comes originally from the area around the Mediterranean, and has changed remarkably little from its wild ancestors.

Wild snapdragon growing in a wall in Thasos, Greece (Photo One – credit below)

This is Antirrhinum majus sb linkianum, from Western Portugal (Photo Two – credit below)

In its native range, snapdragon is a perennial, but in the UK it’s more often treated as an annual or biennial, as it often doesn’t survive the winter. As a cultivated plant, it has been bred in a tremendous range of colours, from white through to the darkest red, with yellow, lavender and pink varieties also being easy to obtain.

A fine selection of snapdragons (Photo Three – credit below)

The shape of the bloom is the obvious reason for the antirrhinum’s common name of ‘snapdragon’ – even its Latin name means ‘like a snout’. Something which I hadn’t noticed was the similarity of the seed capsules to little skulls, which gives the plant a Gothic air much in contrast to its sunny summer personality.

A single antirrhinum seed capsule. Well, I never. (Photo Four – see credit below)

The genetics of the snapdragon was studied by both Gregor Mendel and Charles Darwin himself. It was noticed early on, for example, that a cross between a red-flowered plant and a white-flowered plant produced a pink-flowered plant which carried both the red and white-flower gene. Antirrhinums are also incapable of pollinating themselves, and this may explain their extraordinary variability, which has been a source of much study amongst geneticists for over a hundred years.

Snapdragon flowers are often included on lists of ‘edible flowers’, but my source of all things ‘weed’ related, Eat The Weeds, says that the flavour is pretty poor.  It is also said that an edible oil can be extracted from the seeds, and is used in Russia as cooking oil.

The snapdragon is said to be protective against witchcraft and the evil eye, and anyone who anoints themselves with antirrhinum oil is said to be destined for fame.

Medicinally, the plant has been used in poultices for growths and tumours.

The flowers can be used to produce a green dye.

Something I have personally noticed over the past few years is that snapdragons seem to be becoming a much more popular florists’ flower.  A bunch of garden-cut snapdragons will certainly last for a long time in a vase, and the flowers are very attractive. Apparently florists seek out the longer-stemmed varieties, because they add more height to an arrangement.

If  I had a south-facing garden I would grow a lot more snapdragons. The bumblebees love them, they flower for ever, and there is a colour to suit anyone. Plus, they remind me of old-fashioned cottage gardens like that of my Grandmother, where  I chased my brother around the garden with a snapdragon flower amidst roses and marigolds, beans and tomatoes. It reminds me that a garden can be both productive and beautiful.

Bridal bouquet with white antirrhinums (Photo Five – credit below)

Photo Credits

Photo One: By User:Haplochromis – Self-photographed, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2177519

Photo Two: By Taken by Carsten Niehaus (user:Lumbar). – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38880

Photo Three: Stock Photo from Pixabay https://pixabay.com/en/snapdragon-flowers-bloom-blossom-20809/

Photo Four: La Ajala on Flickr https://www.flickr.com/photos/laajala/464364344

Photo Five: Public Domain: By bildtankstelle.de [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3ABildtankstelle_1_003.jpg

All other photos and content copyright Vivienne Palmer. All images free to use and share, but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you!

 

The Weed of Hercules

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Giant Hogweed (Heracleum mantegazzianum)

Dear Readers, during my trip to the Olympic Park a few weeks ago I was astonished to notice an eight-foot tall Giant Hogweed standing on the bank of the canal next to the Aquatic Centre. I saw ‘astonished’ because the area does not want for gardeners, and also because this is not a shy demure plant of the kind that I usually write about. No, this plant is a pirate, with flower heads the size of dinner plates and a potential height of up to 18 feet tall. It is also not something that you want to have around if you have children, or anyone vulnerable, for this is that unusual thing: a plant that lives up to the hype.

Those of you old enough to remember the 1980’s might remember a programme featuring, I think, Esther Rantzen, in which the full horror of Giant Hogweed was revealed. The plant’s  sap contains chemicals  called furocoumarins, which are released when the plant is damaged, whether through strimming when the plant is young, or through being macheted down when mature. Children are particularly attracted to the plant because of its extraordinary size – it makes even an adult feel as if they are in Land of the Giants – and the hollow stems invited use as a blowpipe. Unfortunately, the sap, whilst initially appearing to cause no problems, actually changes the structure of the skin if it touches it. If that skin is exposed to sunlight, the result can be as minor as a rash, or as extreme as severe, lymph-filled blisters that may require hospitalisation. Furthermore, the skin will erupt again whenever exposed to sunlight.  Although there have been many ‘scare stories’ in the media about perfectly innocent plants, for this one it seems that many of the claims are justified. For a full and detailed picture of what’s been happening with the plant, I recommend our old friend The Poison Garden  website, where all things Hogweed-ish are discussed. There is also an excellent section on this website about identification of Giant Hogweed, and how to tell the difference between it and the Common Hogweed (Heracleum spondylium). Incidentally, Common Hogweed (which is very common as its name might suggest) also contains furocoumarins, but seemingly at a much lower concentration than its giant relative. I would also suggest protective measures if you are strimming a patch of this plant.

Incidentally the band Genesis, who were responsible for introducing both Peter Gabriel and Phil Collins to an unsuspecting public, included a song about Giant Hogweed on their Nursery Crymes album. For your delectation, here is a live rendition from 1973. You’re welcome.

Giant Hogweed flowers (Photo One – see credit below)

The Latin name ‘Heracleum mantegazzianum’ refers firstly to Hercules (probably because of the plant’s outrageous size) and then to Paolo Mantegazza, a nineteenth-century anthropologist who may have been the first person to extract cocaine from the coca plant. The plant is originally from the Caucasus, and was introduced to the UK by the Victorians, who were rather taken with how pretty it was, and what a fine show it made alongside the lakes and rivers of their estates. Alas, as is often the case, the plant did not stay where it was put, which will be of no surprise to the readers of this blog. It can now be found in North America, New Zealand and most of Europe. Although the seeds are rather heavy (as you might expect of something this size) and fall close to the parent, they can be easily transported on the soles of the shoes of the unwary, and I wonder if they can also survive falling into water and being carried that way. Certainly I have no idea how on earth the Olympic Park specimen turned up.

A Giant Hogweed bud. Don’t get too close now….! (Photo Two – credit below)

Getting rid of Giant Hogweed is an expensive and difficult business. Nothing short of full-body cover and protective glasses will do. Seeds are viable for up to seven years, and so annual spraying in the spring (with all its concomitant health and environmental hazards) needs to be take place. As John Robertson explains in The Poison Garden, the only alternative to spraying is to completely replace the topsoil, which can cost many thousands of pounds that councils currently don’t have.

The magnificent Giant Hogweed (Photo Three – credit below)

I had a momentary dilemma about what to do about the Giant Hogweed. It is a truly magnificent plant, and in its native lands it probably goes about its business unmolested, as presumably local people know what it is, and how to deal with it. But here, in London, next to the most popular swimming pool in the capital? I sent the Olympic Park team an email telling them I’d spotted Giant Hogweed, and they emailed back to say that they will remove it. Do I feel as if I betrayed a true wonder of the natural world? Yes. But people, especially children, will be curious about the plant, and will not know about the danger that it represents. For once this particular Giant Hogweed really does meet the definition of a ‘weed’ – the wrong plant in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Photo Four (credit below)

Photo Credits

Photo One – Des Colhoun [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Two – © Copyright Gordon Brown and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Photo Three – By Huhu Uet (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Photo Four – © Copyright Roger Kidd and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Wednesday Weed – Hedgerow Cranesbill

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Every Wednesday, I hope to find a new ‘weed’ to investigate. My only criterion will be that I will not have deliberately planted the subject of our inquiry. Who knows what we will find…..

Hedgerow Cranesbill (Geranium pyrenaicum)

Dear Readers, this is one of those ‘weeds’ that has probably been popping up all around me for years, but which I have only noticed since I started the blog. There is scarcely a walk that goes by that doesn’t involve me coming to an abrupt halt, peering down, and rubbing my chin in perturbation. It isn’t hard to see that this little plant is some kind of geranium, but the leaves, which look rather like butterfly wings, are the dead giveaway.

Hedgerow cranesbill is from southern Europe, was first recorded in the UK in 1762, and is ‘still spreading’ according to my Harraps Wild Flowers. A cultivated variety of the plant, called ‘Bill Wallis’, is lauded to the skies on various gardening websites for its vigorous flowering, so I wonder if these plants are truly ‘wild’ or have hopped over a garden fence. Whatever the reason, they are to be found all over East Finchley. If you should wish to purchase some ‘Bill Wallis’, or indeed to have a look at it, there is a link to a nursery who sells it here, and very pretty it is too.

There seem to be no traditional medical uses for this little plant, but there have been several studies on the efficacy of some of the chemicals that it contains against Leishmaniasis, a tropical protozoan disease spread by sandflies. There are 12 million people infected in 98 countries, and between 20,000 and 50,000 people die every year as a result of this scourge.  As the parasite is now immune to many of the usual treatments, it would be great news if hedgerow cranesbill were to be efficacious.

It doesn’t appear that many humans have tucked into hedgerow cranesbill for their dinner, but it is a popular bee plant, in spite of the small size of the flowers – there seems to be little correlation between the size of a bloom and how much the pollinators enjoy it. Plus, the long, long flowering season is a bonus – I took the photo above in mid-June, and this plant is still covered in blossoms.

It is also used as a food plant by the larvae of the brown argus butterfly (Aricia agestis), which  has a fascinating lifecycle – the caterpillar produces a secretion which attracts ants, who then act as a kind of praetorian guard as the larva goes about its business.

Brown argus butterflies (Photo One – see credit below)

So, here you have it. Hedgerow cranesbill is a small, easily overlooked flower that may be feeding the larva of butterflies, and may one day be used to cure one of the scourges of the developing world. Be it ever so modest, it may contain all kinds of hidden secrets.

Photo Credits

Photo One – By Charlesjsharp (Own work, from Sharp Photography) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

All other photographs copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use or share non-commercially, but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you.

 

 

Bugwoman on Location- The Olympic Park, Stratford

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Dear Readers, I wanted to let you know that at the moment I am right in the middle of a very intensive four-week CELTA course. CELTA is a qualification that will enable me to teach English as a foreign language, and I am planning to volunteer to work with refugees and asylum seekers when I complete the course (if I pass). All free English language courses have been cut by councils as they struggle to manage their budgets, and many people who have just arrived here cannot afford to pay to learn the language, so I would like to help. So, in other words, I have not been able to respond to your comments as quickly as I usually do, but believe me I have read every one, and they have kept me going when the assignments are piling up :-). The course finishes on the 16th September, and if you hear some cheering on the breeze, that’ll be me! In the meantime, here is a piece about my old home town, Stratford in East London.

When I was growing up, the area between Stratford Station and the river Lea was a wasteland of brambles, railway tracks, small industrial units and canals. Nobody ever went there if they could avoid it, because why would you? From the platforms at the station I would occasionally spot a fox skulking amongst the rosebay willowherb, and once there was a kestrel hovering above the clinker, but largely it was a ‘brownfield site’, unwanted and unloved.

And then came the Olympics.

Today, I finally went back to Stratford to see what had been done here. Of course, I remember the 2012 Olympics and the television shots of the Aquatic Centre and the Stadium, but I’d never seen them in real life. I can see the Arcelor-Mittal tower from the streets of Muswell Hill, but I’d never stared up at it. And so, as I walked out of Stratford Station and ambled through the vast glass halls of the Westfield Centre, I wasn’t prepared for the sheer scale of the place.

The first thing that you see is the stadium, which is now hung with banners welcoming West Ham football club. It seems strange that Upton Park, the basic, hang-dog stadium that was home to West Ham since its inception, is now empty and silent. This place is huge, and also unfinished: for the Olympics it had an athletics’ track around the edge, which meant that the audience was a long way away from the action. This has now been remedied, and the stadium will be ready for the new season. I imagine that it will often be partially full, because it’s enormous, but the transport links are extraordinary: Stratford now has not only the Central line and links to Liverpool Street, but the Jubilee line, the Docklands Light Railway and the Overground, and shortly it will have Crossrail. All in all, poor old Stratford is definitely now on the map.

Across from the stadium is the Aquatic Centre, designed by Zaha Hadid, who also did the Birdsnest Stadium for the Beijing Olympics. What a boon to the local neighbourhood this is. I remember going swimming in Romford Road baths, in the echoing Victorian rectangle that was the main pool. This new place is popular, and enormous, and state-of-the-art.

There are lots of other things too: you can rent a swan pedalo to go up and down the canal. There are boat trips in a barge. There are restaurants, both in the park and in Westfield. Stratford now has John Lewis and a Waitrose! Blooming hell. It’s come a long way from the draughty, miserable shopping centre that replaced Angel Lane and most of the little shops. The lady who serves me soup in John Lewis tells me that apparently even this sixties eyesore is booming, because people buy stuff on their way to and from the Olympic Park.

But, me being me, I want to know what’s being done for the wildlife. Although this area might have felt unloved in the past, it was a refuge for animals, and the new park feels tidy and manicured. At first I am inclined to be pessimistic – the verges are planted with typical ‘prairie plants’ like rudbeckia and Echinacea, plants that seem to pop up everywhere these days. But as usual, the trick is to be patient.

I start taking some photographs, and my eye is caught by some young wagtails feeding in the grass. I notice that there are islands of clover, carefully mown around, to provide food for bees and caterpillars. This is a good start. Some youngsters on bikes are taking advantages of the paths and stairways to practice on their mountain bikes, and I wonder if there isn’t a ‘proper’ bike track somewhere, maybe over near the Velodrome.

I spot some Giant Hogweed on the opposite bank of the canal, and am delighted. It seems like an anarchist in a field of fairies. How has it escaped the control of the gardeners, I wonder? After all, it can cause blisters and all sorts of nonsense. I rather love it, and take some photos because I fear that it will not be around for long.

I plonk down on a bench opposite the prairie planting, and think. The degree of change in this area is very disorientating, and there are new tower blocks everywhere. To my right is the Arcelor-Mittal tower. This was twisty enough before they added an undulating silver tube to the outside. You can now pay to slide in this tube from the top of the tower to the bottom. Needless to say, they would need to pay me to get me to do anything so daring.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a small flock of birds in amongst the chrysanthemums and daisies in the border opposite, such is my reverie. But when I hear the little bell-like calls, I realise that there are twenty or thirty goldfinches feeding on the seedheads of the grasses and thistles. I love to see birds feeding naturally, and these birds are so athletic, hanging upside down to get the seeds out and clinging to the stems as they blow about in the breeze. In this way, this border is definitely working: as migratory birds pass through (and they often follow waterways such as the Lea) this will be a valuable source of food for them, just as the brambles and grasses that used to grow here were. The past has been swept away, but the lessons have not been completely lost.

I walk on towards the Lea itself, passing an empty carpark. A young woman in a hijab and tracksuit pounds past. Here, the borders are wilder, more overgrown: yarrow and poppies mix with sedum to form a swathe of seedheads and flowers. I am trying to get a picture of all this when, in my peripheral vision, I see a brown bird flying fast and low over the top of the plants. It disappears behind a tree, and I walk along the path, wondering where it could have gone. And then I see it, sitting on top of a wooden hut – a kestrel.

I take a couple of long shots, wondering how long it will sit there. Then, I notice that folk are walking past right below it, oblivious. The bird watches them go, unperturbed. I wonder if it will be as relaxed around me? So I approach it, taking a few photos every few steps, expecting it to fly at any moment, but it sits. It sees me, but it doesn’t care. I am able to get within ten metres of it, close enough to see the bars of black on its chestnut wings, its huge black eyes, the yellow skin at the base of the hooked bill. It is still sitting there when I decide that it has been patient enough, and turn to leave it. People are still walking past, buried in their conversations or their phones. I want to tell them that the bird is there, but in the end I decide not to. You can never tell what is important to people, and what their reactions to nature will be. And somehow, this feels like a present from the past.

Everything might have changed, it says. But there are still kestrels here.

All photos copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share non-commercially, but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you.

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Weed – Wild Carrot

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Every Wednesday, I hope to find a new ‘weed’ to investigate. My only criterion will be that I will not have deliberately planted the subject of our inquiry. Who knows what we will find…..

Wild Carrot (Daucus carota)

Dear Readers, this week we are back, yet again, in the cemetery, where there is currently an abundance of wild carrot. I had never really looked at this plant before, but what enthralls me is the way that the plant opens, with the green bracts below the flowerheads forming into what my book describes as a ‘fist’. To me, they look much more like cosy green nests.

One very distinctive feature of wild carrot is that, right in the middle, you can often see a single cherry-coloured flower as in the photo below, standing tall amongst the normal white blooms. Indeed, this has given the plant the name ‘Queen Anne’s Lace’ in North America, because the red flower is supposed to be a drop of blood from when Queen Anne pricked her finger. In the UK, Queen Anne’s Lace is a vernacular name for cow parsley. No wonder botanists like to stick to the Latin name. It’s believed that the red flower attracts insects, and indeed the flower does look as if some kind of creature is already sitting there. Wild carrot is a useful companion plant because, like so many umbellifers, it attracts predatory wasps, who will make short work of many pest species. However, be careful as the leaves can cause dermatitis amongst those with sensitive skin.

A perfect example of the ‘red flower’ in the middle of a flowerhead (Photo One – credit below)

Domesticated carrots are cultivars of a subspecies of wild carrot, Daucus carota sativus. Both the leaves and root of wild carrot are said to have a ‘carroty’ smell, and I shall have to check this out next time I’m in the cemetery. The young root is said to be edible, though it quickly becomes woody. It is very important not to confuse wild carrot with either Hemlock (which has purple blotches on the stem) or Hemlock Water-dropwort (which is hairless) as both are amongst our most poisonous plants. If in doubt, don’t would be my advice. The flowers can be used as fritters, or to make a jelly, and if you scroll down here you will find a recipe for the latter. Indeed, I recommend The Carrot Museum website for all things carroty, and am only sorry that such a thing doesn’t exist in bricks and mortar. I have seldom been more delighted to find a blog and I have to say that for me it’s one of those sites that makes me grateful that there’s an internet.  For example, here is a page on people who make music out of carrots.Just as a random sample, I have selected the group Flutenveg, and can recommend listening to their sample tunes. It’s amazing what you can do with a root vegetable.

But, back to the wild carrot.

Medicinally, wild carrot was used very widely. The red flower was considered to be efficacious in the treatment of epilepsy, but a decoction made from the whole plant has been used for kidney and bladder problems, and for gout. The seeds, bruised, are said to be useful for flatulence, and are said on the Permaculture website to have ‘hints of citrus, cumin, coriander, and caraway.’ They have also been used as anti-lithics, in the treatment of kidney and bladder stones. Historically, wild carrot seeds have also been used as an abortifacient in the early stages of pregnancy (this effect was known to the Romans amongst others), and so the seeds should be avoided by those who are pregnant and want to remain that way. And herewith is the usual warning that wild plants should only be used by those who know what they are doing, and are confident with both their identification skills and their understanding of the properties of the plants that they are working with. Anything else is both disrespectful to the plant, and dangerous to the patient.

Wild carrot can be used to produce a creamy-white dye, and is also, to my astonishment, used by the perfumery industry, though it is largely the aromatic seed that is used as an ingredient. Here is a review of a perfume called ‘I Love Les Carrottes’ by the perfume house Honore des Pres:

‘I Love Les Carottes is a raw, cult, artistic and gentle cocktail of notes which promises a happy ending with a touch of euphoria on a grey, rainy day. It was inspired by carrot and echo of optimistic aromas in sunny winter morning, at time of brunch in New York or after a crazy, sleepless night full of party and euphoric tensions. Its notes introduce joy and health, since carrot is so beneficial. Initiated and inspired by creation of this fragrance, Olivia brought so much love into cooking, defrosting and recooking organic carrot from Harlem, while mixing zests of fresh carrot. She even wrote her recipe – to mix carrot seed characteristic for clear earth aromas with gentle orange aromas, Caribbean vanilla, patchouli and iris root butter. Available as 50ml EDP. I Love Les Carottes was launched in 2010.’

Well. For once in my life I am speechless. Though if someone could create an ‘Eau des Pomme de Terre’, preferably with the Pomme de Terre mashed, I would be most interested. Or even an ‘Eau de Parsnips Roasted’.

But sarcasm aside, I can see that carrot and orange might make quite a pleasant basis for a perfume. And who wouldn’t like a ‘happy ending with a touch of euphoria on a grey, rainy day?’ Sign me up, for sure.

Photo Credits

Photo One – Warren Lynn at https://www.flickr.com/photos/warrenlynn/14612829613

All other photos copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share non-commercially, but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you!

Bugwoman on Location: Woodberry Wetlands

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Last weekend, we went for a trip to a brand new nature reserve called Woodberry Wetlands. It’s close to Stoke Newington and to Manor House tube station, and is based around two reservoirs. The West Reservoir is used for sailing and kayaking, but the East Reservoir is now a haven for birds and insects. Overlooking it all is an enormous Berkeley Homes housing development. There is a tower (flats starting at £960k) and they are currently working on ‘The Nature Collection’, which should be finished in 2018, and where a 2 bedroomed flat starts at 670k. So much for ‘affordable housing’.

As is our wont, we go first of all to the café. It’s a bit noisy and haphazard, but then it hasn’t been open long. There are only two toilets, which I suspect will be a problem on a busy sunny Sunday, especially as everyone seems to come with babies and toddlers attached. It’s all concrete floors and metal chairs, and so the noise level is extraordinary.

But then we go outside, and all is miraculously calm.

There is a path around half of the reservoir, bordered on one side by woodland, and on the other side by a thicket of reeds which susurrate gently in the breeze. A pair of mute swans have pulled out on to an island in the middle, and there is the sound of baby coots wheezing away to their parents. A heron is poised to strike, all focussed attention. A row of herring gulls stand on a ridge in the middle of the reservoir, one leg tucked under, their pale eyes glowering. A little flock of house martins fly twittering overhead, probably on their way south.

It interests me how few people are venturing out into the reserve itself. It’s a beautiful day, and the path would be easy for prams or wheelchairs. Maybe the café has become something of a community hub, as there doesn’t appear to be much else around here. Plus, the reserve is free to enter, so you could happily just use the café.

There are volunteers out here on the reservoir, cutting back the reeds where they are blocking the water inlets, sorting out some wooden chairs in the little educational unit at the top corner of the reserve. There are beehives, too, and I notice that they run a beekeeping course. There is much here to engage – bat walks, bird walks, foraging, woodland crafts. I’m not sure what woodland crafts are, but I suspect a bit of reed-weaving might be in order.

Fish in the New River

We can’t walk right around the reserve because the path is closed during nesting season (a great idea in my view) but we can walk along the New River Path, which takes us back to our starting point. The water is crystal-clear here, and I can see shoals of fish, some of them nearly a foot long. There are the usual coots and moorhens here, and a pair of swans, and dragonflies stitching patterns in the air. If we carried on along this path, we’d end up in Hertfordshire in one direction, and Islington in the other.

A fluffy baby coot

Common Darter Dragonfly

Coot and Cootlings 🙂

For the first part of the walk, we are parallel to the council estates that the new development is replacing. There is block after block of mid-rise red-brick apartments, and then one that looks as if it was designed in the thirties. When we get to the end of the walk, John talks to the people in the Marketing Suite (which is how we found out the prices), and discovers that this is the biggest housing development in Europe, and that all the council housing will be replaced by 2035. Of course, that means that the people currently living here will spend the next twenty years living next to a building site. I am also curious to know what kind of housing these people will be offered, and hope that some kind of ‘like for like’ deal has been negotiated. The least we should be doing for folk is giving them something as good as they currently have, but I imagine there will be all kinds of shenanigans before these people are finally rehoused. The sound of pile drivers and the clouds of dust must already be making living here difficult.

Existing council housing. The folk here might have a long wait for their new flats…

As we turn the corner, we enter the area next to the flats that have already been built. They do look neat and clean, with landscaped areas and seats and flat pavements.

New Flats

In the childrens’ play area there are carved figures from Wind in the Willows – a Mr Toad and a Mole. But there is something a bit woebegone about the development, as if it doesn’t yet have a heart. The best new developments that I’ve seen have shops and cafes right in the heart of the residential area, so that people can meet one another and socialise. There doesn’t appear to be anything like that here. No wonder the café is so crammed all the time. I imagine that living here would be lonely.

And so, we come back to the entrance, a copper building that covers the bridge into the reserve with the words ‘Woodberry Wetlands’ cut out. We live in a time when a number of new wetland nature reserves are being created: one on Walthamstow marshes promises to be the largest wetland site in the country. It interests me how much is being done in cities to protect wildlife, even as vast swathes of the countryside become agricultural monocultures or fenced estates where hen harriers and owls are killed to protect grouse or pheasant. There’s evidence that there is now more biodiversity in urban and suburban settings than in many of our supposedly ‘wild’ places, and this is a trend that’s set to continue, I suspect. For today, I am just grateful that there’s another place for birds to nest and rest undisturbed, and for dragonflies to crackle through the sky.

All photographs copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share non-commercially but please attribute, and link back to the blog, thank you!

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Weed – Field Bindweed

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Every Wednesday, I hope to find a new ‘weed’ to investigate. My only criterion will be that I will not have deliberately planted the subject of our inquiry. Who knows what we will find…..

Field Bindweed (Convulvulus arvensis)

Dear Readers, I have previously written about Hedge Bindweed, which is the big white-flowered vine that is currently trying to infiltrate my garden over the back fence. But today, I wanted to sing the praises of a smaller, more delicate flower. If I saw it in the garden centre, with its candy-pink and white flowers, I would be very tempted to buy it. Unfortunately, it is designated as a ‘weed’, and although not quite as enthusiastic as its large-blossomed cousin, it can certainly cover a fair area in a short period of time.

I spotted this example at Woodberry Wetland, a brilliant new nature reserve in north London that I shall be writing about soon. But it is also happily growing through the brambles in the cemetery, so within my half-mile ‘territory’. It is a native plant to the UK, but was introduced to North America, as far back as 1739. It probably arrived in the New World amidst contaminated grain seed, but it has made itself very much at home, and is considered a serious Invasive Species there. It is very difficult to eradicate as the seeds can lay dormant for up to 20 years, and are often spread far afield by birds. Plus, like so many of the Convulvulus family, it has fragile roots which break easily. As the plant can grow from the tiniest fragment, this is not a happy situation if you were hoping to be Bindweed free. I speak from experience when I say that if you turn your back for a second, the little fingers of bindweed will wrap around your plants and head skyward, turning well-behaved borders into a tangled mass.

But, truly, what exquisite flowers this plant has. The pink and white pattern has always reminded me of a striped Venetian glass goblet, and it must also have struck a chord with the Brothers Grimm, because here, in full, is a short story about this plant.

Our Lady’s Little Glass

Once upon a time a waggoner’s cart which was heavily laden with wine had stuck so fast that in spite of all that he could do, he could not get it to move again. Then it chanced that Our Lady just happened to come by that way, and when she perceived the poor man’s distress, she said to him, “I am tired and thirsty, give me a glass of wine, and I will set thy cart free for thee.” “Willingly,” answered the waggoner, “but I have no glass in which I can give thee the wine.” Then Our Lady plucked a little white flower with red stripes, called field bindweed, which looks very like a glass, and gave it to the waggoner. He filled it with wine, and then Our Lady drank it, and in the self-same instant the cart was set free, and the waggoner could drive onwards. The little flower is still always called Our Lady’s Little Glass.

I note that field bindweed has been used for a variety of purposes in North America. The Okanagan-Colville tribe(from southern British Columbia and northern Washington state) very sensibly used the stems of the plant to tie up small game so that it could be easily carried home. The Pomo tribe used a decoction of the plant for period pains, and the Navajo used it for spider bites. In the UK, it has been used as a mild diuretic and laxative.

Edible uses for the plant are few and far between, maybe because the plant contains a number of potentially toxic alkaloids. However, the Eat the Weeds website mentions that the plant is eaten in some countries, usually after being boiled first. Rather more pleasantly, it mentions that in some regions of Spain, the flowers are sucked for their sweet nectar.

In the comments section of The Cottage Smallholder website post on Bindweed,  there are some interesting thoughts on how field bindweed was once used as a cottage garden plant, in particular to cover things buildings, such as outside toilets, which weren’t very attractive. There are also many thoughts on the plant’s laxative properties, so possibly there is some sympathetic magic going on here! But one thing that is also clear is that field bindweed is a plant of disturbed soil, a real opportunist, and something which helps to protect bare soil when it’s first exposed. I wonder if the seeds at Woodberry Wetlands have been waiting for years for their moment in the sun, and have appeared following the making of the paths and earth banks in the reserve. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.

Stages of Cruelty by Ford Madox Brown (1857) (Public Domain)

Now, as you know I do like to shoehorn some culture into the Wednesday Weed wherever possible, so here, for your delectation, is a painting by Ford Madox Brown, a Pre-Raphaelite painter who, by a delightful coincidence, is buried is St Pancras and Islington Cemetery, where I go for my fox-watching. In the painting above, a rather nasty child is seen chastising her bloodhound by walloping it with a stem of love-lies-bleeding. The young woman on the stairs is supposed to be the same child at a later point in her life, and she is being cruel to her poor suitor who languishes behind her. And, clambering around the banister is a rather botanically-inaccurate depiction of bindweed. The meaning of this plant in the Victorian Language of Flowers? ‘Extinguished Hopes’.

Interestingly, there is a truth here: children who are cruel to animals frequently end up being cruel to humans, and indeed this kind of behaviour is, these days, a ‘red flag’ for social workers and teachers. I find it fascinating that this has been recognised for so long, and yet I often see the tormenting of animals being explained away as  ‘children being children’. For sure, sometimes children are just too young to understand that an animal is a separate being with feelings of its own, but sometimes the behaviour is symptomatic of something more sinister. Maybe we would have a few less abominable adults  if sadism was recognised as the unacceptable thing that it is when people were young enough to be changed.

Madonna and Child by Vincenzo Malo (1630s) (Public domain)

I’m reluctant to leave my study of this pretty plant on such a sad note, however, so here is a painting of the Madonna and Child by Vincenzo Malo, a Flemish painter who worked with Rubens. Here, the Madonna holds a sprig of bindweed in her hand, which represents her steadfastness to God’s will, and her charity. Plants can change their meanings for humans from age to age, from culture to culture, and yet they just carry on doing what they need to do to survive, in spite of our strange upheavals and crises. I think that one of the reasons that I love ‘weeds’ so much is their resilience in the face of change. They really are the unsung heroes of the plant world.

All photos copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share, but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you!

 

Bugwoman on Location: Kew Part Two – What’s Good for the Bees

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Honeybee on Globe Artichoke flower

Dear Readers, last week  I wrote about how my friend J and I visited the water lilies and lotuses at Kew Gardens, and all the interesting things that we found out about them. But the other big theme of the visit was pollinators, and bees in particular. August can be a tricky month in the garden – all the spring flowers are long gone, and everything can be looking a bit tired. What plants are the bees and hoverflies and butterflies using now?

At Kew there is one magnificent border called the Great Broad Walk Border, which at 320 metres is the longest double herbaceous border in the world. Great drifts and swathes of flowers stretch on both sides of the path, in shades of yellow and orange, pink and purple, blue and white. Who could resist a slow meander along this magical road? Certainly not Jo and I, and as a result I ended up with mild sunburn, but it was a small price to pay.

Hoverfly on Achillea

What impressed me most about this array of plants was that every single one had some wildlife value. There was bright yellow Achillea, a close relative of the humble yarrow, which was swarming with hoverflies – the flat ‘platforms’ of the flowerheads, which contain hundreds of individual flowers, are attractive to flies and beetles who do not have the specialised knowledge and mouthparts to deal with the bells and cups and tubes of other plants. Bronze fennel was another favourite with these humble pollinators, again because its nectar and pollen are easily accessed. There seems to be a trade-off between ease of access and quality and quantity of food, however: the more difficult a plant is to pollinate, the better the reward for the pollinator has to be.

Bumblebee on Globe Artichoke (with honeybee just coming into land)

The huge purple flowers of globe artichokes were also favourites, particularly with bumblebees, who can force their way between the tightly-bunched petals to get to the nectar. I always forget that these vegetables are members of the thistle family, at least until I look at them close up and realise that the part that we eat is the seedhead of the plant. I am trying to grow a globe artichoke in my garden, but I fear that the spot is not sunny enough – thistles of all kinds do like a blast of sunshine.

Bees on Cirsium atropurpureum

There were also some of my favourite thistles, a variety called Cirsium atropurpureum, which I used to have in the garden but has now faded away. The bees used to be found in the middle of the flowers in a kind of nectar swoon, and they were doing the same here. I wonder if there is some benefit to the plant in having the bumblebees stay for an extended period? On balance, I suspect that they would rather that the bees did their stuff and moved on, but who knows.

Bumblebee on Coneflower

Bees on Rudbeckia

Bumblebee on aster

Prairie plants of all kinds have become very popular over the past few years, and with good reason. The huge cushions of pollen in Echinacea and Rudbeckia attract honey and bumblebees, and there are some lovely single chrysanthemums and asters. I am particularly fond of asters – they can provide food for bees right into the autumn, when everything else has had enough, and their delicate star-like flowers are striking counterpoints to the changing foliage around them.

Bumblebee on Salvia

And finally, let’s not forget the benefits of Salvia of all kinds. Bees just seem to love it.

The Hive installation

So, it seems as if Kew is taking bees seriously, and nowhere more so than in an installation that combines art and science, called ‘Hive’. From a distance, Hive looks like a mesh of silver metal, floating like a cloud or swarm above a small hill. Close up, it becomes apparent that it’s a lattice of aluminium tubes, and as you walk into it you can hear the whole thing vibrating with a low hum. Lights inside the structure glow and subside, seemingly at random. But actually, the whole installation is wired up to a real bee hive behind the scenes, and the sound and lights are reacting to the levels of activity in the hive. On a hot day, the metal thrums busily as bees come and go, waggle-dance and feed their young. On a cold, wet day, I imagine that it is much more subdued.

At the bottom of the installation there are listening posts. You are instructed to take a wooden stick from the top of the post, put one end of the stick between your teeth and the other into a slot on the post, cover your ears, and listen. You can hear a commentary explaining what the sounds that you hear are: in one, it’s two queen bees threatening one another, a kind of low vibration mixed with clicks and quacks. It is well worth doing this, and then standing back and watching full-grown men and women with sticks between their teeth listening to something inaudible to everyone else. It feels a little like Candid Camera (for those of you old enough to remember it).

And of course, we wanted to go in search of real bee hives. The one that is linked to the installation is hidden away behind the scenes, but in the student garden, which is tucked away in a corner, there is a working hive. This is safely fenced off to prevent any unwanted human/bee interactions, but it’s close enough to see the bees waiting on the launch pad, perhaps to determine from the other bees where the best nectar is. It’s known that many bees will be ‘loyal’ to a particular patch of plants until they are all finished: after all, it makes much more sense for bees to continue to visit a known site with plenty of food than to be forever looking for new ‘spoils’. Bumblebees in particular are extremely efficient at working out the best combination of route, distance and nectar availability to maximise the amount of food that they bring back.

So, it seems that Kew is certainly doing its best for pollinators of all kinds, and I for one am delighted. Astute choice of plants can make all the difference between a garden that is lifeless, and one that is full of bees and butterflies. It’s great to see a world-renowned garden such as Kew taking this on board in such a whole-hearted way. I salute them.

All photos copyright Vivienne Palmer. Free to use and share non-commercially but please attribute and link back to the blog, thank you!