Nursery web spider

 The rough grassland on the old Brancepeth  colliery site, never grazed or mowed, is perfect habitat for the nursery web spider Pisaura mirabilis. This female had recently enclosed her egg cocoon inside a silken tent woven around grass stems - a nursery where the vulnerable spiderlings can hatch and grow in safety.

Over 250 years ago, the Swedish taxonomist Carl Alexander Clerck gave this species the scientific name Pisaura mirabilis, the marvellous Pisaura. Its fraught courtship ritual has been a source of wonder for arachnologists ever since. Males pacify females, which are notoriously prone to cannibalism, with the gift of a fly wrapped in silk. The larger the fly, the longer it will take to unwrap and eat, extending the opportunity to copulate before her hunger turns to aggression. So, there is a premium on males who are good hunters, though deceitful suitors sometimes wrap and present small twig fragments, risking death mid-copulation when she uncovers the fraudulent offering.

If she does accept his advances she'll eventually produce a ball of eggs wrapped in white silk that she carries in her jaws, slung under her body, until they are almost ready to hatch. The egg cocoon is so large that she is forced to walk around on tip-toe, to keep it clear of the ground.

 These pictures show what happens next - a remarkable example of spider maternal instinct. Her eggs have matured and the grasses have grown tall, so she climbed to the top and bound a few together with silk. Then in the space below she wove a tent, deposited her eggs inside, nibbling through the cocoon so that the spiderlings could hatch and then finally sealed them inside their silken nursery. 

Now, she’ll stand guard until they grow large enough to bite their way out of their nursery and take their first steps into the outside world. In the photographs below you can see her yellow egg cocoon, safe inside the nursery she has woven, with spiderlings beginning to hatch.

Large white butterfly caterpillars

 I sowed nasturtium (Tropaeolum majus) seeds this spring, partly for the flowers but also because I was hoping that large white butterflies might find them and lay eggs. They did, and now the foliage is disappearing fast, thanks to some very hungry caterpillars, A nostalgia trip really, because I remember watching exactly the same thing happening in my parents' garden, seventy years ago. Childhood nature experiences can last a lifetime.

Queen wasp mating

 Poor photo (heavily cropped, taken with an old phone in deep shade) but this appears to be a queen wasp mating with drones. They all flew away, still locked together, before I could get a better picture.

Mid-July seems very early for new queens to be leaving a nest - they usually hibernate after mating - but still plenty of summer left for her to start a new nest this year, I suppose.

Two wasp generations in one summer? Are seasonal patterns of insect behaviour confused by changing climate, maybe?

This morning, riverbank footpath, Durham city

Centaury

 Wild flowers have bloomed early and flowered quickly in this year's summer heatwaves. The barley harvest has already begun and grassland in the landscape is parched, the colour of a well-baked digestive biscuit. So I was surprised to find these exquisite little flowers of centaury Centaurium erythraea in full bloom amongst withering grasses on a footpath verge, in a place I've walked many times but had never seen them before.

Centaury is an annual species that seems to thrive in dry locations, including sand dunes. Its seeds germinate in late autumn when water is plentiful, wintering as a rosette of leaves, restarting growth in spring and then sending up a spike of flowers in early summer. If this year's sequence of heatwaves and drought becomes established, maybe this winter-annual growth pattern will be a winning strategy.

Ripe cherries

 Wild cherries Prunus avium have been ripening this week in Weardale. I've tasted quite a lot of wild cherries over the years and most are sour or bitter-tasting, but occasionally I come across a tree with unusually juicy, deep red fruits that make excellent cherry sauce for pouring over ice cream. It looks like a bird has already had a peck at one in the first picture, below. Once they begin to ripen the birds take them very quickly. 

Rooks often eat those that fall under the tree but only hawfinches have beaks that are strong enough to split open the stones. Otherwise the seeds pass unharmed through their gut and are dispersed to become new seedling trees, unless field mice find them. 

When I demolished our old garden shed a few years ago I found a wood mouse's stash of scores of cherry stones from the tree that used to grow in our garden hedge, each with a neat hole nibbled in it, where the rodent had extracted the kernel.