Seasoning

Orkney doesn't really do Autumn. We're just not geared up for it. Obviously, the archipelago is a little light on the whole tree thing, only having small patches of woodland in sheltered places, so that an autumnal splash of colour is quite limited. The trees that there are tend to be in small conifer plantations, mysteriously leaning at 45 degrees, or broadleaf woods of mainly Sycamore, which is almost a weed here!

However, whilst cogitating about what to write today, it has occurred to me that perhaps the lack of a Summer up here was simply Orkney having a valiant attempt at mellow fruitfulness. Not too hot, not too cold, not too windy, not too wet. That would certainly explain why the transition from August to September has seemed so... seamless.

Wildflowers are setting seed, cereal fields are being harvested, herds of cows are grazing ever closer to their winter quarters and the sounds of Nature are changing.

Against this backdrop, I picked a mild and calm day to head to Yesnaby to carry out September's survey for the Sea Plantain Leaf Beetle. My transect is an approximately 300 square metres of maritime heath sat on granite schist, such that on a good day it's possible to spot the occasional tiny black beetle clambering over a pale-coloured rock. Bearing in mind that the last beetle I had managed to spot was back in July, I wasn't very hopeful, and indeed I scored a resounding zero in the Seen column. Still, it was a pleasant day, a lingering Bonxie flew by in no rush to head south for Winter, and the sky was filled with skein after skein of Pink-footed Geese, migrating from their Arctic breeding grounds to spend the harsher months around the coasts of the UK. Not only was it spectacular to watch them come in over the ocean, but their "wink, wink" calls heralded the arrival, increasing in volume until they were overhead, followed by a gentle diminuendo as they disappeared southwards.

A crew from the local Fire Brigade were practising their cliff rescue techniques, lending credence to my idea of it being Fall. Sorry.

Pink-footed Geese. Thousands have gone overhead during the recent days and nights.

At home, Megan has been patrolling the garden, ever alert for a caterpillar. There had been two Knot Grass caterpillars feeding on the leaves of our Willow saplings recently, but we'd not seen them for a day or two. Megan discovered one of them laboriously clambering through the grass between the willows and a raised bed. It paused for the afternoon on the wooden sides of the bed before disappearing again overnight.

 

Another "now you see it, now you don't" caterpillar has been this one below... 

I am sure that it would be excellently camouflaged on the branch of a tree, but its "I'm a tiny twig" routine was somewhat wasted on a post and rail fence. At 50mm, it's quite a large inchworm (50mm = 2"), and a kindly soul on the internet informed us that it is a Scalloped Hazel. We've not seen the adult moth here at Burnbank, but did record one back at Megan's previous home in Houton.

I have begun the annual cutting of the wilderness that is our back garden, firstly removing the Ragwort stems before they go to seed, then mowing the remainder of the tiny meadow. This activity produced a notable sighting, a frog, not a creature that we had previously recorded in the garden. It wasn't very impressed at being disturbed and promptly dived into the small water feature in the meadow. If it isn't too presumptuous to think of Spring, that's perhaps quite a good sign for the main pond next year.

There is now just one patch of Ragwort left, which is still in flower and supporting a cast of butterflies, moths, hoverflies and bumblebees. For that reason, I am reluctant to brandish the secateurs in its direction just yet.