The latest report from Michael Walter:
2017 ranks as the second driest in the 36 years that I have been recording rainfall in Rough Common; only 2011 was marginally more arid. I doubt if this will have much impact on our overwintering wildlife, but the risk is that the water table will be low going into spring and summer this year, and that if we experience the deadly combination of drought and a heatwave, vegetation may suffer; this will in turn have an impact on whatever feeds on those plants which is, directly or indirectly, all animal life. This winter has also been fairly mild so far, interspersed with the occasional colder day or two, and hazel catkins locally have been in full bloom for over a month, though the Blean bushes mostly sport tight brown buds that will not erupt into their full yellow glory for a while yet. Growing up, I associated catkins with Easter and daffodils – how times have changed!
Climate change may bestow on us the benefit of early catkins, but this time of year is still essentially a drab period for vegetation. In the wood we have a few native evergreen species, such as holly, ivy and a scattering of small, spindly yew trees, but most plants are either dead or dormant. However, one small shrub, which is also evergreen, caught my eye recently and gladdened my heart, and that is butcher’s broom. Growing in small clumps of scarcely-branched stems to a height of no more than three feet, it is moderately frequent in parts of the wood, especially near the margins, but entirely absent from vast expanses, making it another plant whose ecology is imperfectly understood. It is not unlike a very diminutive holly, being dark green, with hard leaves ending in a sharp point, characteristics which evidently rendered it suitable for use by butchers when brushing their chopping blocks or sweeping shop floors, so endowing it with a country name that has stuck. But the curious qualities of this plant extend way beyond the utilitarian, for the leaves I mentioned as being stiff and prickly are a botanical oddity: A highly self-effacing plant, it produces the tiniest of whitish flowers that seldom produce any fruit, but flowers and berries are set in the centre of the leaves. Any naturalist will tell you that fruiting organs are always produced from buds on the stem of the plant: this is an immutable botanical law, and so it turns out that what appears to be the butcher’s broom ‘s foliage are in fact flattened stems that have developed a leaf-like shape and carry out the normal leaf function of photosynthesising. These fraudulent leaves have been graced with the special term “cladodes”. The lovely plant that had attracted my attention was unusual in being smothered in rich red berries. Close to the access track, it stands unseen by all the motorists but, unfortunately, it has been spotted by a walker, as some of the stems have been snipped off at ground level. Several nearby butcher’s brooms are, far more typically, totally devoid of berries.
In winter not only do plants appear to have died, but it often seems as though all birdlife has succumbed, with no flitting wings or tuneful calls to brighten a walk. But they can surprise you at any moment. The other day, while strolling along a ride, my attention was drawn to a movement in nearby bramble – a lovely goldcrest, a bright yellow streak blazed down its crown, seemingly radiating light. Then, as I watched, I became aware of the thin calls of a flock of long-tailed tits fussily making their way through the bare oak branches, just as a dumpy nuthatch bounded purposefully across the scene. So much for a dead wood – those birds had made my day.
Michael Walter
michaelwalter434@gmail.com
01227 462491
Butcher's broom
Butcher’s broom “cladodes” with tiny flowers emerging from the apparent leaves
Butcher's broom berries
Hazel catkins