Flavour of limes (Tilia species)

 

Winds had stripped all the leaves from lime trees but this large-leaved lime Tilia platyphyllos in Wolsingham churchyard is still holding on to a few of its winged seeds. Unlike the small-leaved lime T. cordata and common lime T. x europaea, the seed capsules of this species have distinctive raised ridges.

Autumn leaf fall has exposed the architecture of this magnificent mature common lime in a field at Stanhope in Weardale.

Common lime, a natural hybrid between large-leaved and small leaved limes, frequently has large burrs on its trunk that sprout a chaotic forest of twigs; in this one the burr is mid-trunk and its twigs have formed a massive skirt of small branches that would sweep down to ground level if they hadn’t been browsed by sheep: so, in this case, more like a ballet dancer’s tutu than a skirt.

All that twiggy burr growth from burrs at the base of the trunk makes common lime easy to propagate cheaply from cuttings, so it's often planted as an amenity street tree - but then the burrs have to be trimmed at the end of every growing season - like these two examples in the image below.

A treecreeper visits

Three o’clock on a freezing November afternoon. In a few minutes the sun will sink below the hedge and the garden will be plunged into deep shadow.

There’s something climbing up the trunk of the old crab apple tree, about fifteen feet from the window. At first it looks like it might be a field mouse, but it’s a small brown bird with claws like crampons and a long, slender, curved beak like surgical forceps: a tree creeper.

It’s searching every nook and cranny for insects and there are plenty of them - the tree has been infested with woolly aphids all summer and their nymphs are overwintering in bark crevices.

Biological pest control at its best.

Just time for a few quick pictures through the window as the bird climbs through the the last glimmer of sunlight on the crab apple trunk - and then it vanishes.

Half a minute of magical birdwatching, from the comfort of a settee.

Return of the milk thistle Silybum marianum

 

You've got to love a plant whose Latin generic name is Silybum, more prosaically milk thistle Silybum marianum. I’d never seen it until seven years ago, when a friend asked me to identify ‘a triffid growing in some builders’ rubble in the corner of a field’. 

It was impressive, with a height and spread of over a metre, with beautifully marbled leaves and a corona of spiny bracts around the flowers that was reminiscent of medieval weaponry. 

I brought some seeds home and tried to germinate them, with no success, and must have chucked the contents of the pot onto the compost heap. Now, seven years later, this seedling appeared in the garden. Beautiful foliage, but I’ll be a little apprehensive about the plant when it reaches full size, next year. Meanwhile, the young plant has begun to flower, just before the first frosts of winter arrive. Definitely a plant to handle with care: milk thistle has spiny bracts around the flower heads that look as though they could cause serious pain.