George had just spotted a tadpole in the garden pond.
After a bunch of frog spawn had gone to Miss T’s Butterflies class of 4-5 year-olds, and another clump to our friend ‘Frog’, Mrs T was convinced that what remained was never going to hatch. Well, at least one egg has done what it was meant to do! This is how things looked a few weeks ago.
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.
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!
A warm October evening, and Mrs T and I felt lethargic. Time for a walk? Indeed there was, so up Abbot’s Hill we went. Autumn colours showing themselves, but what about the sloes? Mrs T made sloe gin last year, and the family enjoyed it, Mrs T excepted.
There they were on the old hedge, and I had a bag in my pocket. In a quarter of an hour we culled sufficient to our need – and I was delegated to make the gin this year. We slightly overshot our target of 1 lb or 450gm.
On the way down we gathered in the first dozen or so chestnuts: there’s a little squash waiting to be stuffed; a few mushrooms will help. Mists and mellow fruitfulness anyone?
Mrs T often comments that we are allowed to use the birds’ territory for our garden. Two examples of this today.
It was time to prune the apricot tree, but some of that must be postponed. As I cut through a shoot some 3 metres above the ground I saw that the fork leading to it was occupied by a brooding collared dove. I’d seen the nest before, but it was built while we were away for a few days, and I thought it had been abandoned as a silly place to build. It was a silly place to build, but it was not abandoned, so it will have to be respected. Unless she abandons it again.
The second example was the cock blackbird, leading one of his daughters around the garden, demonstrating the art of pecking food from the floor, or even aphids from the prunings of the apricot tree, while we sat at our evening meal. At least it is peaceful co-existence; neither doves nor blackbirds are aggressive thieves, unlike the Canada geese in the Royal Parks!
Abel’s legs are getting longer and stronger, so that he can soon get out of sight in Larkey Valley Woods. (These were given to the people of Canterbury by a former Mayor, Frank Hooker.)
Abel’s gone while I was telling you that! At least he has got the idea of following the waymark arrows but – the red and blue diverge ahead and we forgot to put his hi-vis jacket on. But he’s hiding somewhere …
Where’s my Grannie?
Well, you see why I only got one photo on this walk.
Spring is as active as Abel, and the green flowers of the spurge stood out against the dark leaves and shadow behind them. I once had a teacher who said there were no green flowers – she’d probably call them yellow, just to avoid being proven wrong!