Showing posts with label corvids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label corvids. Show all posts

Friday, 13 June 2025

Five times

 

Five times


This is the fifth time in eight years that I’ve composed a post about stag beetles. The first time was when four-year-old Frankie had been alarmed by ’a big, black thing’ on the floor in the conservatory. On that occasion it had been brought in by the curious cats. That summer, they brought in three, all unharmed and returned safely to the great outdoors.

It is around this season of the year that stag beetles emerge from their underground lairs, having spent the majority of their lives, between three and seven years, as larvae, feeding on decaying wood.

As adults, they also spend their first winter underground, eventually tunnelling to the surface, to mate. The female then returns to the spot from which she emerged, digs down and lays her eggs in the soil. The larvae may be found as much as half a metre underground.

The adults will not survive the summer, dying by the end of the season. None will live through the winter, apart from the new adults underground.

Stag beetles are the largest beetle native to the UK and are in decline. They are quite widespread in Southern England, but rare or even extinct in other areas of Britain. They are drawn to the warmth of roads and pavements and often end their lives being crushed under the wheels of cars or the feet of pedestrians.

Despite their rather aggressive appearance, they are completely harmless, except to each other when fighting.

This year we found two stag beetles sadly drowned in a bucket of water. We tipped them out, but it was too late to save them.


They fall prey to foxes and corvids. I have just seen a beautiful jay in the garden, so I wonder if it has spotted a stag beetle making its stately way across the ground.

If you’re interested in reading my previous stag beetle posts, just type ‘Stag beetles’ in the ‘Search this blog’ tab.

 

Wednesday, 12 April 2023

A to Z challenge 2023 – J is for . . .

 


A to Z challenge 2023 – J is for . . .

My theme for this challenge is Nature in all much of her wonderful diversity. My posts will reflect the fact that I am resident in the south of England.

All photographs in this post are the property of the writer.

J is for Jackdaw (Corvus Monedula)

The jackdaw is the smallest member of the corvid family, widespread across the British Isles, apart from the far north-west of Scotland. It is an adaptable bird, living in habitats as diverse as coastal reaches, woodland and towns and gardens, and nesting on cliffs or in holes in trees or chimneys.

                                               Best foot forward . . . 

The jackdaw’s diet consists of seeds, fruit, insects and carrion and occasionally eggs, hatchlings or nestlings.

                   Jackdaws will also inhabit church steeples, which habit was remarked by the 18th century poet, William Cowper:-

‘A great frequenter of the church,

Where bishop-like he finds a perch

And dormitory too.’

In parts of Wales the jackdaw was considered sacred because of this practice.

A legend among early Christians was that all corvids were originally white and took on black plumage after the crucifixion of Christ, with the exception of magpies, which were too busy stealing to mourn properly and only turned black in parts. I don’t know where jays came in the equation, though!

 A jackdaw on the roof may announce a birth or might equally be a portent of death (or possibly, macabrely, both) If a jackdaw stands on a cathedral weather vane it is foretelling rain, and if one is encountered on the way to a wedding it is considered good luck.

Jackdaw high in an oak tree

The common name jackdaw first came into use in the 16th century and probably derives from ‘Jack’ meaning rogue, or small (as in jack snipe and jack knife) or from the sound it makes (tchack), and daw, once used to describe a simpleton.

Jackdaws have an affinity with humans and can recognise individuals, a skill they share with other corvids.

 This smallest of the crows is credited with intelligence, mischievousness, shrewdness and thievery – all other attributes it has in common with (some) humans!

 

Jay (Garrulus glandarius)

                                      This Jay's crop is quite full!
The jay is the most colourful of the corvids but is shy and therefore not often seen in gardens. In autumn jays forage for acorns and bury them in caches to provide food in leaner periods. Those that are not found are left to grow into oak trees. The rapid spread of oak trees after the last Ice Age is thought to be a consequence of the jay’s habit of caching and leaving.
Listening . . . 
Before oak trees were planted commercially, jays were the main source of distribution and propagation, a single bird having the ability to spread more than a thousand acorns annually. They have been recorded carrying single acorns a distance of 20 km (almost 12½ miles)

In addition to acorns, jays eat other nuts, seeds and insects, and like their fellow corvids, they will sometimes take eggs and nestlings from nests.

Though their natural call is unmusical, a screech rather than a tune, jays are gifted mimics, reproducing the songs of small birds, and the alarm calls of blackbirds. They can also imitate everyday domestic sounds, like dripping taps, humming machines and humans whistling.

An interesting habit that jays share with more than 200 species of birds is that of ‘anting’. Birds may practice ‘active anting’ in which they pick up ants in their beaks and rub them on their bodies, or they may use ‘passive anting’, when they lie with wings outspread in an area rich in ants. In both cases, the ants react defensively, secreting formic acid, which acts as an insecticide to kill off parasitic mites in the feathers.


Wednesday, 31 March 2010

March Full Moon 2010



Moonlight

The stars around the fair moon fade
Against the night,
When gazing full she fills the glade
And spreads the seas with silvery light.

Sappho (c.610 – 570 BC)
Translated by H. De Vere Stacpoole

 
There was a full moon last night or so I believe. We couldn't actually see it as it was overcast and raining so these photographs are from March 2006. I love the golden glow and it is apt that one of the names for this month's moon is the Lantern Moon.
Another of the names for the March Full Moon is the Sap Moon which seems appropriate for a month in which dormant plants are waking up and sending out leaves and tendrils and getting on with life. Even on a blustery, dull day such as today, the fresh green leaves and the daffodils which have finally put in an appearance brighten the view and gladden my heart. The birds are busier than ever, flying in in pairs, trios and gangs. Yesterday I saw goldfinches flirting in and out of the holly tree and the woodpeckers are drumming vigorously, pointing out decaying trees. The starlings, as ever, squabble and screech and long-tailed tits skitter in like tiny, prettily painted shuttlecocks.
This full moon is also called the Crow Moon.
There are always crows to be seen in and around the garden – after all I live in Crowthorne! – and though they are the rapscallions of the bird world, I very much enjoy their antics. They are remarkably big birds but somehow manage to balance on the bird feeder to peck energetically at the fat cake.
They will also perch on the arches and bow solemnly to Jenna-the-Labrador and call to her. Although she's the same colour as them I don't really think they regard her as a four-legged crow but it is amusing to watch. She just gazes back at them. I think Gus will answer them – he's rather more vocal than his sister and, of course, still only a pup. This morning a pair of magpies, also corvids, courted gravely on the bird table. Occasionally, jays and jackdaws visit but they are shyer relations and rarely stay long.
The final name I have for the moon is the Lenten Moon which really needs no further explanation.
As we approach Easter I wish you all a peaceful weekend, whatever your beliefs or lack of them.
'Shalom'