Myfield in May

…from a hard brown to a softer bed of green.

Myfield on the first of May was still cold, having said goodbye to the coldest April for 60 years. The field margins were beginning to fill up with cow parsley and the hog weed starting to show through. There were quite a few dandelions but clearly not enough. A solitary orange tip butterfly fluttered around and a pair of buzzard circled over the hare field hunting vainly for a thermal.

A couple of days later it was very windy. After several weeks of dry high pressure we now had lots of wind and quite a bit of rain. I watched the sunlight move across the field, the ground changing from light to dark and back to light again as the dark clouds scurried across the sky. The dog stood head to the north into the wind, beard and ears blown back and nose savouring the smells and tastes on the air. Chaffinches flew low from one hedge to another and even the rooks struggled against the wind. But despite all this, a lark resolutely took off and sang for joy seemingly oblivious to the malevolent air currents.

On the 8th, it rained more or less non stop. We walked through Myfield along the stream on the way back home where the uncut headlands are filling very quickly, the parsley and hogweed pushing their way through the grass, nettles and assorted nascent plants. The white nettle clumps looked particularly good but on the trees and hedgerows the blossom was fading fast, and on the cherries almost all gone. The crop was now a couple of inches, changing the look and colour of the field from a hard brown to a softer bed of green. In an adjacent field, more than 60 Corvid picked over the land before the earth became obscured by the barley. Goldfinches chased each other on the periphery of a small flock of mixed finches and there were larks in the sky.

Back the next day for a full circuit. The weather was warmer and drier for a change. Red campion was just coming out on the track down from the road, along with cow parsley and nascent hogweed, nettle, a few spots of yellow campion, bugle, and white nettle which seems to have been making a show for some time. The other side, the hedge only sported the parsley and little else. However, as we got nearer the top, the number of dandelions in the headland grew and there are several along the eastern edge, though like the larks, still not enough. Water was draining off the field at a dip in the land.

The spinney along the northern edge was host to arguing jackdaws and little else. A chiff chaff called on the other side of Green Lane and somewhere a buzzard miaowed but I never saw it. I am intrigued about the lack of fungi there this year. I don’t think I have missed it, but it has been very dry. Perhaps some may show up in the next week or so.

Turning down the west side I was pleased to see that the blackberry hedge is sprouting well but I shall be very surprised if there is any fruit this year. Yellowhammers were calling along the hedge stationed as sentries to warn of unwelcome visitors, one flying off as I moved along the hedge, then the next, then the next. At the triangle, one sat resolute in a tree. Water was audibly running down the ditch and the yellow flowers on the banks are slowly being subsumed by long green lush vegetation. The same can be said of the edges of the headland where a few weeks ago I could easily reach the ditch, now the greenery is over 30cm high in some places. In a few weeks we will not see the stream at all.

On the 13th I made a concerted effort to record all the flowers I saw. The impression is that there is not much variety in the edges of Myfield and what there is mostly cow parsley and hogweed. However, by walking slowly and stopping often - my usual mode especially with camera in hand - I start to get my eye in and pick out other plants in flower: Buttercups, Cow parsley, White nettle, Red campion, Dandelion, Forget me not. Other plants yet to flower include nettle, dock and hogweed. Trying to track down the names of some plants can be difficult and I quickly found that using Google’s image search, if the flower is blue, it suggests that it is lavender. The particular plant in question turned out to be Ground Ivy, which is not an ivy, and certainly nothing like lavender!

At the weekend before the Bank Holiday we went through Myfield and down to the farm to buy eggs on the Saturday. The weather was still pretty cold and occasionally very wet. There had been significant rain on the Friday and overnight, and the ground had several patches of standing water. We walked out along the stream side and near the point that it goes underground by the bird feed crop, a small spring bubbled water out on the edge of the arable land. We had seen these before in this part of the field after periods of heavy rain. The area has a number of these spring lines and indeed our village has them, partly easy to track with the line of village pumps but also with tales of cellars becoming impromptu swimming pools.

On Sunday I crossed from Green Lane into Myfield. The windbreak of the trees along the lane kept hidden the forgotten sharpness of the air as this time it buffeted up from the south west. And the vast expanse of the arable crop, a few inches high, uniform green, was a stark contrast to the meadow I had just left. Walking back down I concentrated on the edge between the path and the stream, now just a noise across vegetation that had already reached a metre or more in height and quite dense. Even the runs regularly used by the creatures through here were becoming hidden, transforming to their summer structure of vegetation tunnels.

On a leaf a spider scurried away as soon as I showed any interest. Next to that plant, another spider just obligingly sat while I took its picture. The cow parsley now dominates this edge of Myfield with nettles generally acting as the under storey. The odd patch of red campion pops its head up on the bank edge and there is still the occasional glimpse of white nettle. The hog weed is coming out in one or two places, its huge stems and umbrellas releasing themselves from the knots in the main stalk.

On the 25th the weather was supposed to turn dry and sunny but I don’t know where that was going to be, certainly not here. The threat of rain as hard as the day before, which was interspersed with hail, led to the decision not to take the camera but, rarely for me, to take the binoculars. With the wind, lack of sun and the impending rain there would not be much to photograph and there would be a problem in getting the dog to hold a plant still while I took its picture.

Despite this I did think that it was a good day for corvids, the chance to watch them tumbling through the gusts and an opportunity to secure my observation skills. The first one was really easy, a pair of magpies searching the ground near the entrance but they didn’t stay long once we appeared. We walked anticlockwise and at the top of the eastern edge stopped to watch a crow purposefully examining the ground about 50 metres or so into the field. There is often a crow on this part of the field, and usually the partner is in a tree nearby through there was no sign of one today. Crow was black, sleek, neat and very handsome and he knew that; not flashy but very confident.

And that was it I thought. The weather has transpired against us seeing anything else interesting. I continued in this train of thought, lamenting particularly the absence of hare this year. Some years you only have stand still for few moments and three or four bob up in the fields. Not this year and certainly not in Myfield.

…the woods were far denser and the light had shifted…to layers of greens…

We turned along the top of Myfield, and it was amazing to see how quickly the foliage had opened in this patch. In two days the woods were far denser and the light had shifted from chunks of grey sky interspersed with black lines to layers of greens of various hues, softer, offering welcome and cover. Further along the path I could see something white moving about. A few steps more and I thought we should stop and have a look through the binoculars. Sitting on the ground with her back to me was a mallard duck, and stomping around nearby was her mate. Clearly he wanted to get on. Well, the only water there was a muddy puddle, and they were rather exposed, and didn’t she know that a man and his dog were approaching? We stood away back, waiting to see what would happen. He walked back and forth a few more times, turned to look at her and then they both set off at a steep angle to clear the trees. I wonder who won that argument?

Now going down the west side, again I could see something different on the field edge. A quick look showed it was a hare, sitting in the open but half a lollop from its escape route. It appeared to be oblivious to our approach even though we were some way off and the wind was in our favour. The dog, oblivious and hadn’t picked up the scent, carried on. I called him back and when I looked again the hare had gone.

I felt quite good about seeing hare. I could feel the warmth of self-satisfaction run through my body. Most walks are improved by seeing something I had not expected - or given up wanting to see. This was one of those, enhanced by the chance decision to take the binoculars with me. There was still one more surprise to come. Walking back up to the road, a bird was flapping around behind the hedge and then spun round in the air before setting itself right. What light there was hit its brown feathers and off flew the kestrel, feet hanging down, small prey dangling from its talons. Brilliant.

By the very end of the month, the weather had improved in time for the Bank Holiday. The usual temperatures of the past two months, highs of 12 or 13, were replaced with ones in the low twenties. How quickly things look and sound brighter. In the air stereo larks burst with song and fluttering around the edges were speckled wood and orange tip butterflies, a multitude of crane flies and several bright red ladybirds. Then the last thing to see on the last day of May was a dragonfly. Flying on a trajectory from Green Lane, through the line of trees and out over the open field, we nearly collided. Too quick and too near to decide what sort it was but wonderful to see and I hope an augury of what is to come in June.

Myfield in June

Myfield in April

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