a parliament of rooks

Removing invasive parrot feather

Honeysuckle scented midsummer evenings mixed with the petrichor aroma of the earth following more rain. The luxurious dusk song of the song thrush 'Who did it? Who did it? He did! He did!' joins the hammering of the blackbirds.

The first meadow brown butterflies of the year, nectar on bramble flowers in the hedge. A juvenile kestrel is scolded by chaffinches. Mating spotted longhorn beetles on umbels.

Counting crows as they pass at dusk to their roost in nearby Bestwood Country Park. Rooks, jackdaws, crows. Straggling in singles and small groups. Then a large flock - correctly the collective noun for rooks is 'a parliament'. Over a thousand. Many missing flight feathers - a sign of the annual moult.
Over the hill a donkey brays, forlorn to my evening ears. What sadness is he recalling?

Slow worm

' 'Oller blocks! They've used 'oller blocks!' I'm back to project managing the garage construction. Our groundworkers have arrived and view the work of the previous team and there is exasperated head shaking. Solid blocks were needed, not hollow. 'We'll need 130 red engineering bricks, one more A193 and two metres of gen 1 concrete 30 slump for Tuesday. 
Did you allow 300 overlap on the mesh?'
My valedictory project. I tell myself there’ll be no more.

Georges Pond is wretched with invasive parrot feather. Where we had a multitude of dragonflies and dozens of zig-zagging whirligig beetles on the meniscus of the water, there's nothing in the choked pond. I'm into the pond, be-wadered, pulling the stems out by hand and floating rafts of the removed vegetation to the bank. Almost a half done. At least another three hours of work ahead. My hands indelibly stained  purple from the bruised stems. But no attached leeches. Yet.
As I reach down to pull out another armful, a smooth newt rises to the surface - face-to-face and each of us surprised. Our first pond newt record.
The clear water immediately brings a darter, coupled damselflies and a dragonfly. Backswimmers too. This parrot feather control is time-consuming and not pleasant. Perhaps a water buffalo or a dugong may be the answer? My Christmas list begins... 
My phone rings over on the picnic table. My mum can't find my dad. We hunt, expecting a fall.

Spotted longhorn beetles

My sister discovers him almost a mile away, on walkabout down the coach road, unscathed but utterly lost. This is a man whose inability to walk even a few metres frequently requires assistance and merits a disabled parking badge.
He fell in the house the following day opening the lounge door, requiring two of us to lift him.

The unmown lawn is a celebration of flowering ribwort plantain. Tiny moths tumble about in the vegetation. A second section of the lawn is now left uncut. This will grow on after the present unmown section has a cut.

The perennials in Jill's prairie beds are stunning. Not yet in full flower, the contrast in their forms, sizes and leaf colours is art. As is the hot border by the house. 

Trev and Linda gave us a walnut tree when we began developing the gardens. It was slowed down when we moved it but is now beginning to fill with leaf. Walnuts are planted for ones' grandchildren, apparently.

Hot border

More composting. I turn two compartments and mix them into one to be left until the autumn - and disturb a mature female slow worm.  She has a distinct dorsal stripe which is absent in the male. Can there be any finer quality mark for home made organic compost than the endorsement of slow worms..? Later, the same day, a slender golden juvenile male beneath one of the refugias in the Cedar Walk.

The summer equinox has passed and was the final day for picking asparagus. The green asparagus fingers quickly become exotic ferns, over seven feet in height.

Above the vegetable garden, our seven tall lime trees have the suggestion of humming. The next sunny day will see them full off bees.