Tar Spots

Now that we've reached late autumn, many of the leaves on our trees have dropped off and are scattered across the lawns. This makes the distinctive "tar spots" of Rhytisma acerinum a whole lot easier to spot. The fungus is common on maples and sycamores across Europe; a very similar and closely-related species occurs in North America. Fortunately for the infected trees, the fungus is a cosmetic problem which impacts only the leaves and seldom harms the tree itself. Next spring, when the weather warms up again, sticky spores released from these "tar spots" will travel on the wind and infect new leaves. While it doesn't generally harm trees or humans, the fungus isn't entirely benign. It has been associated with "equine atypical myopathy" and can cause death in horses if they consume too many infected leaves.

Scabby Apples

Among the trees in the garden are an ornamental crab apple (a hybrid cultivar called John Downie) and a regular apple. The latter is a small tree, gnarled and twisted by exposure to the strong, salty winds that regularly blast in off the North Sea, its branches flung southeastwards like arms thrown leewards in despair. For such a small tree, it yearly bears a bountiful harvest of huge apples — all blighted by the rusty brown splotches of Apple Scab (Venturia inaequalis). This is a very common fungal disease of crab apples, and it often spreads to other nearby members of the rose family. (Both apples and crab apples are members of that family.) Unfortunately, we have plenty of rose family species in the garden that might be affected: cotoneasters, hawthorns, and whitebeams among them.

Apple Scab is a worldwide problem now, transported around the globe by trade in apples and ornamental crab apples. It is a serious issue for commercial apple growers, but — other than a bit of unsightliness — isn't really a problem in gardens like ours. The infection rarely kills the tree, though it does pepper the leaves and fruits with blistered brown spots. Treatment typically includes spraying fungicides and clearing the infected fruits and leaves off the ground under the trees, and we'd rather have the many lichens and insects that would be impacted if we were to do so!

Yarrow

A vast majority of the plants in the garden have died back (or at least stopped flowering) now that we've reached late autumn, but a few have carried on blooming. Common Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) is one of them, its snowy white flowers still sprinkled across the lawn in places where the lawn mower hasn't reached, or where they've re-grown since the mower passed. The narrow feathery leaves and small, white blooms of these perennials started popping up in May, so some of them have had quite a long growing season.

Common Yarrow is abundant in the UK and native across Eurasia, from the British Isles to China. It has also been introduced to North America and Australia. It's the host for the rare parasitic plant Purple Broomrape, an important larval food plant for a host of moth species, and its pollen and nectar attract a variety of beetles, wasps and true bugs, so we're happy to have the plant around. It's quite aromatic, and European Starlings use it to line their nests; studies have shown that it inhibits the growth of nest parasites. The plant has also long been used by humans. Its genus name, Achillea, is a nod to the Greek hero Achilles, who reputedly carried Common Yarrow into battle to treat wounds; it was used as an astringent and tonic, and helped to staunch the flow of blood from injuries — hence some of its other folk names, including soldier's woundwort, staunchweed, and nosebleed plant.

Princess

Our garden is home to quite a few amphibians, even though we don't have a proper pond; we regularly see frogs and toads worming away into the undergrowth as we work around the property. I found this big one a few weeks ago as we cleared away some of the thistles that had taken over a wild corner of the garden. It made a few half-hearted hops and then froze, probably hoping that I hadn't noticed it. This is a Common Frog (Rana temporaria), easily identified by that big dark patch behind its eye and by the distinctive folds that run down either side of its back. It also lacks the bulging parotoid glands of the Common Toad and looks smoother, without the rough, warty skin of a toad. I'm guessing it's a female, as it was quite large; females can reach 5 inches (13 cm) in length, while males top out at 3.5 inches (9 cm).

Common Frogs are widespread across most of Britain and Ireland, but they need a nearby pond for breeding. I'm guessing our little garbage pail lid "pond" won't do the trick, so they're probably heading off the property. The neighboring farm has a big pond, with lots of vegetation around the edges, only a few hundred yards away and we saw masses of frog spawn there last spring. But we're happy to provide good feeding territory; frogs eat invertebrates, and the garden is full of those. They hunt primarily at night, and we've often stepped out the door after dark and found two or three clustered around the front porch (and the nearby water plant trays), looking for supper. They'll be settling in to hibernate soon, wriggling under a rock or into a compost heap for the winter. I look forward to seeing them again next spring!