Mrs Turnstone’s good news for Valentine’s.

Well, we’ve always thought of Valentine’s Day as the birds’ wedding day, but this year the bouquet goes to the garden frogs. Mrs Turnstone ran indoors to grab her phone and record the event. We shall have to watch the weather and protect the eggs from frost, if we get any. It is unusually warm. But we have had lying snow in February, half a lifetime ago.

At least we can do a bit for the climate by helping the frogs who choose our pool. That may include covering it to prevent the blackbirds from fishing.

Croaking into Spring

smart

Mrs T had been subdued, hardly mentioning the lack of frogspawn in our garden pond. It’s an annual worry: will they lay this year? Last summer neighbours cleared a neglected garden and disturbed many frogs in the ivy that was undermining the garden wall.

I said nothing; till today. As I let myself through the back gate I heard a croak, a full-throated, joyous croak. At least one frog was alive! Naturally I peered into the pond and there I saw two mounds of frogs’ eggs. Had a certain friend brought some from her garden which always has a surplus?

Not at all, these had been laid overnight. Coming later in the season they are less likely to be killed by frost, though we’ll have to be on hand to cover the pond overnight with bubble wrap. Let’s live in hope, and continue to provide places of refuge amid ground cover plants such as ivy, periwinkle or these violets.

Winter comes on Autumn’s Heels

Bitter For Sweet

Summer is gone with all its roses,
  Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers,
  Its warm air and refreshing showers:
    And even Autumn closes.

 Yea, Autumn's chilly self is going,
  And winter comes which is yet colder;
  Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder,
    And the last buds cease blowing.

From Goblin Market, The Prince’s Progress, and Other Poems by Christina Rossetti.

There were more frosts and more intense cold in Christina Rossetti’s time. Nevertheless, we have had the first hoar frost of this winter, those last dahlia buds look unlikely to flower; the tents along Canterbury High Street we hope are keeping people safe, and warmer than otherwise they would be, until the shelter opens next month.

A proper Winter’s walk

On Sunday we walked through Fredville again, enjoying the frost both close-up and into the distance. After a stop at Barfrestone Church we walked a different path back to Nonnington with the sun behind us seeing off the last of the white – which hadn’t spoilt the sheep’s appetite. If you didn’t know that the Hurricane had been through here in 1987, you’d hardly guess it. The carefully planted mature trees lead the eye to look around and take in the beauty of the land; if some of the trees are past their best, there are smaller ones planted here and there, and we did see a tree nursery on another walk.

frozen Old Man’s Beard

A Frog for the Butterflies

Miss Turnstone teaches the butterflies, a reception class of 4-5 year-olds. and every year takes some spawn to school so they can watch the tadpoles develop. The frog spawn comes from her mother’s pond.

Hoping to get a photograph for them, I found myself beset with reflections wherever I squatted myself down. Having rejected my snaps altogether, I tried for just one more. This frog chose that moment to swim across the mass of eggs in the bottom of the pond, and gave us an action shot. Not great, but good enough.

The clear water in the pond suggests that it is more than good enough; there’s plenty of weed to start the tadpoles off in life, but we do need to keep a weather eye out for frost. Once the eggs are afloat we could lose a lot to freezing conditions. We’ll live in hope and be ready to help.

A Christmas Rose

On Christmas morning there were a few blooms on the Mermaid rose by the front door, so one was brought inside to open fully in front of Mrs Turnstone’s place.

The winter so far has not given more than two frosts, neither sharp enough to kill Mermaid’s flowers, nor those of Thomas Becket. One of them can come inside on Saturday, the day he was murdered in Canterbury Cathedral.

And, as our parish priest would insist, it’s not too late to wish you a Merry Christmas!

STRANGE SEASON – III

 

We’ve had the first significant frosts this week, bringing red sunrise and sunset and another hint of autumn. I walked down Abbot’s Hill, admiring the remaining red berries and – a welcome promise of spring every year – the lambs’ tails of the hazel beside the ditch.

But at the bottom of the hill I was startled to see a leaf dancing its way to earth. Of course I looked down, to find the path littered with hazel leaves, still green, but released from their parent tree as the low sun reached the upper branches. There were more to come, but the catkins on this tree were still tight, nowhere near ready to begin their own tango with the wind. I guess the leaves need to fall before the flowers can open.

Is Spring that far behind?

Making for Saddleworth by the East Coast line offers a ride through the Pennines. Even if the train from Huddersfield was creaky, the windows gave onto to the bleak hilltops, all dusted with snow.

Next morning the bus through Oldham passed families on their way uphill to the town shops, nine year old boys trying to slide on the film of frost over the shaded pavements, their mothers dragging them along regardless. Mr Pickwick would have sympathised with the little lads

A few more days, and the nights will be getting shorter but the days will get colder; be patient, boys of Oldham!