Rook

 

An unexpected visitor to the garden bird feeder this week: a rook. They don’t appear in the garden very often, but when they do it’s usually in early spring, when they are looking for twigs to renovate nests.

Ffty years ago, when we first came to live in this small market town in the foothills of the North Pennines, on the edge of farmland, we used to have two large rookeries close-by, but as the town has grown, with new housing around its margins, they’ve shifted their nests further away. It’s a long-term pattern of behaviour that has been well documented in many places: rooks generally do not tolerate a lot of disturbance under their rookeries.

 Peering up into a rookery on a windy spring day, at the swaying nests overhead, can be disorientating, unless you steady yourself by leaning against a tree trunk, feeling the transmitted power of the wind when the bole flexes against your back. Down below, earthbound, there is something Hitchcockian about those dark silhouettes wheeling overhead, with their broad wings, finger-like primaries and bony dagger beaks that prise insect grubs from grassroots.

The rooks ride the gusts, sometimes settling into what sounds like conversational cawing, often rising as a raucous flock for no obvious reason. A few bring twigs to repair nests, others seem to be here just to be sociable.

It seems strange to see these ungainly birds visiting the garden bird table because their pickaxe beaks seem ill-adapted for picking up sunflower and millet seeds, but they are birds with a very varied diet.

Come summer, after the harvest, when the breeding season is over, they’ll be pacing through local stubble fields, in the company jackdaws and crows, looking for wheat, barley and oat seed that the combine harvester dropped: nature’s gleaners at work.

A bit of a stink

 

 Stinking hellebore Helleborus foetidus, malodorous but a wonderful source of pollen and nectar for the first bees to emerge in spring, started flowering in the garden last week. Its nectar is secreted into nectaries formed from small tubular petals inside those green sepals, and only accessible to long-tongued bumblebees that must hang under the bell-shaped flower to reach it. The specialised nectaries are more easily visible on open-flowered hellebores like ….

…… this non-native Helleborus argutifolius, also flowering now. The petal/nectaries are the ring of dark green structures tucked in behind the stamens.

Hellebores, which are poisonous, have a somewhat gruesome history in folk medicine, as a vermifuge: “Where it killed not the patient, it would certainly kill the worms; but the worst of it is, it would sometimes kill both” noted Gilbert White in 1779, in The Natural History of Selborne.

Beatrix Potter, mycologist

 

When I first became seriously interested in natural history, about 60 years ago, the Wayside and Woodland series of nature guides, published by Warne, were some of the best available, but too expensive for me - the affordable Observer’s books, by the same publisher, were the limit of my budget. Now there are glossier, better illustrated up-to-date guides but the old W & W series often turn up in secondhand bookshops and have a nostalgic charm. This one cost me 50p. in a charity shop and is particularly interesting because most of the illustrations are watercolours by Beatrix Potter, of Flopsy-bunny, Jemima Puddle-Duck, Peter Rabbit and Mrs. Tiggywinkle children’s book fame.

Before she turned to writing children’s books Helen Beatrix Potter (1866-1943) was a passionate mycologist who approached the study of fungi with a scientist’s meticulous curiosity and an artist’s sensibility, encouraged by Charles McIntosh, her local postman-naturalist who often supplied her with toadstool specimens to paint.

Her studies extended to culturing fungal spores in her kitchen and in 1896 she submitted a research paper, on the subject of velvet shank toadstools Flammulina volutipes (pictured below) to the Linnaean Society of London. At that time it didn’t admit women as members but her paper was read at a meeting and returned for revision but never resubmitted nor published.

She moved on to writing and illustrating some of the best-loved children’s stories, devoting the latter years of her life to sheep breeding and conserving the beloved Lake District landscape that was her home, but her mycological legacy lives on in her exquisite watercolours.