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!

World Wide Web

With autumn's arrival, we've seen a flush of Garden Cross Spiders (Araneus diadematus) all over the property. The source of their name is pretty obvious when you see them from behind; they have a very distinctive cross of pale spots across their fat abdomens (see left). They're relatively easy to identify from underneath as well, thanks to their very stripey legs and the two pale spots on the dark patch under their abdomen (see below). They come in a variety of colours from pale yellow to burnt orange to very dark brown, and their intricate webs are conspicuous, particularly after a bit of rain. At the moment, we have about eight webs tying our rubbish bin and recycling bin together, and another curtain lacing together the honeysuckle climbing up the wall outside our office. The spider typically hangs head down in the middle of its web and waits for flying insects to blunder into the web's sticky strands. This is a common spider throughout much of the British Isles (except for northern Scotland) and western Europe, and has been introduced throughout North America too.

Current currant

Now that we're well into autumn, some of our leaves have finally started to turn. Though many of the trees are just dropping leaves without doing anything fancy first (it's been just a little too dry this year), our Buffalo Currant (Ribes odoratum), which Mike planted in the first flower bed we established, has provided a nice pop of colour. Unlike many of the other flowering currants, which have brightly coloured flowers in the spring, this one's are a pale yellow-green with a "rich, spicy fragrance", according to the BBC's gardening website. Mike says they smell of cloves, as the alternate common name "Clove Currant" would certainly suggest. Though native to North America (the US and Canada), this species is naturalised in parts of Europe, having escaped from gardens. We're hoping that the flowers (and the resulting black berries) will be of use to the some of our garden's wildlife — and are enjoying the bush's beautiful foliage in the meantime.

Redbreast

When it comes to the endearing birds of Britain, there are few that can beat the European Robin (Erithacus rubecula). These are delicate little creatures, only about half the size of the American brutes given the "robin" moniker by homesick colonials. Our garden robins have been busy this summer. Their first nest failed for reasons unknown (though we suspect the neighbour's free-ranging cats may be to blame), but they successfully fledged at least a few youngsters on their second try. And now they're busy kicking those youngsters out of the area, which has led to lots of conflict and lots of singing over the past week or so.

One of the things that makes this species so well-loved is their absolute fearlessness. When we're working in the garden, they're often hovering just around our feet (or spade), waiting to see what tasty morsel we might dig up. They're widespread in Britain, with a population estimated at 6 million (!!) breeding pairs. Their somewhat melancholy songs are a regular part of our garden soundtrack, even now, when most other species have stopped singing — a welcome reminder of summer as the relative silence of winter approaches.

Punctuation

We've seen relatively few Comma (Polygonia c-album) butterflies in the garden this year, which is surprising, considering that adults feed on a huge variety of flowering plants and larvae feed on Common Nettle, which is growing (almost bush-like) in all corners of the garden. This one fluttered its way around the patch recently, spending much of its time visiting Buddleia flowers or resting, spread-winged, on nearby vegetation. The jagged edges to the wings, and the bold orange and black pattern on their upperside make this an easy species to identify. The underside is far more cryptic; when its wings are closed, the butterfly strongly resembles a dead leaf — with a little "comma" mark (hence its common name) on the hindwing. This one has clearly had a close encounter with a bird; that nip at the back of the right hindwing is just about the perfect beak shape!

According to Butterfly Conservation, Commas underwent a huge decline in the British Isles in the last century, before their populations rebounded again. Now they're common and widespread across much of England and Wales, though still rare in Scotland and Northern Ireland. They're recorded in virtually every month of the year, though they're not typically seen flying between November and late February. They overwinter as adults, hibernating in sheltered places, and are among the first butterflies to be seen in early spring.

Damsel, No Distress

We've seen surprisingly few odonates in the garden thus far, so I was really chuffed to find this Common Bluet (Enallagma cyathigerum) resting on our fence a few weeks ago. It made a series of sorties from its perch, returning again and again to the same spot. I found another (or the same one) a few days later, carefully examining the leaves of one of our shrubs, checking for potential prey. There are seven species of small blue damselflies in the UK. Males of this species are identified by the black "button mushroom" shaped mark on their second abdominal segment (just behind where the wings attach) and the thick blue stripes on their thorax. According to the British Dragonfly Society, this is one of the UK's most common damselflies, found throughout the British Isles. It flies from April through October, and is regularly found around water; it's often the most abundant species on large lakes, and is found around open water more regularly than other blue damselflies are. It's also a regular visitor to gardens — and another reason we'd love to put in a proper pond.

Batman

Myathropa florea

Another day, another hoverfly! This one is Myathropa florea, and though the books say it flies from May through November, we just spotted the first one for the garden on a water butt near the kitchen. It was quite an eye-catching insect, waggling its yellow-furred backside up and down as it sat near the rain-soaked cover of the container. Like many hoverflies, it's a wasp mimic; the yellow and black marks on its body presumably deter potential predators afraid of being stung, though the fly doesn't look very wasp-like to us humans. Like the other hoverflies we've managed to identify so far, this one is common and widespread across most of the British Isles. It's also one of the easier to identify. It shows the same strongly-looped vein as Helophilus pendulus (R4+5, particularly visible in the right wing above), and the black patch towards the back of its thorax (the part of the fly that the wings attach to) rather resembles the "Batman" symbol. Given the width of its rounded backside, it's probably a female; males are pointier at the end of their abdomen. Though typically a woodland species, it is opportunistic, and will breed anywhere it can find a suitably wet habitat for its "rat-tailed" aquatic larvae — including, apparently, the occasional water butt. Adults feed at a variety of flowering plants, but are particularly fond of umbellifers, like the towering 8-foot high fennel plants that currently loom over our herb garden. Hopefully, that means will be seeing this handsome wee beastie again!