His Imperial Majesty, or hers

 This huge hairy caterpillar came into the front door of the Croft, yesterday:

She or he is the caterpillar (larva) of the Emperor moth, Saturnia pavonia.

 

Nature, coming in the door

 S/he is dressed for the disco - yellow body stocking, neon-blue jewellery and that "I'll have a Bloody Mary" mouthpart.

 

Moulded slime

 The woodland next to the Croft has recently been cut, leaving the tracks covered in wood chips. I run along these tracks most days.

Recently I've tried not to step on this:

Cowpat? Dog vomit? Stale bread roll?

 At first it was yellow and fluffy - I thought it was some effect caused by horse urine. Then it dried out and turned cream-brown, so maybe it was a cowpat (there are no free cows around here, so unlikely)?

 I broke off a piece, and saw the spores, so it had to be a fungus or a mould.

Scores of spores

It turns out that it is a slime mould, Fuligo septica, also known, charmingly, as "dog vomit slime mould". It grows on moist wood chip and mulch. 

Welcome to weird nature!

A Stable Home

 A wren, Troglodytes troglodytes, has made her home in the roof beams of our donkey stable:

Messy, but safe

I can't see how many fledglings she has in there but the cheeping, and the constant in-and-out with insects indicates that there are a few.

Dry, and dry again

 It's hot and dry at the Croft:

All burnt and brown

The grasses have all died as have most of the flowering plants. The trees are holding out but the ground-water level is dropping, so they too will start to suffer. At 3pm today the thermometer read 35ºC and it has been like that for days. The forecast says it will stay like this for at least the next ten days, maybe longer.

For days, and for years, because this is the second summer in a row with low, low rainfall. So far this year we have had 211mm of rain (211 litres per square metre). By the end of July last year we had had 249mm, but both are more than 33% below the average for the first seven months of the year, 377mm.

 

 

 

 

We have started looking into getting water delivered, because our well is showing signs of distress. So far it's holding out, but for how long?

All of this is - of course - a precursor of the life we are going to have to lead as the climate emergency hits. Extreme temperatures - and the associated risks of forest fire - and resource shortages, starting with water.

 

Places like Montseny will be the canaries in our climate coal mine - crying out as the climate crisis strikes, warning us about the limits of growth, of consumption and of greenhouse gas emissions. 

 

Will our leaders listen? Will we, humanity, listen?