Heatwave!

Blazing June really lived up to the name this year. Instead of the usual change at midsummer into a pattern of wet westerlies, the rain has been noticeably absent for over a month, until yesterday morning, when, for a few hours, it varied between drizzle and downpour.

It was fine but still chilly at the end of May, the Lilac and the Ladies Smock a fortnight late. At the start of June, good weather was forecast and there was the usual rubbish reporting of temperatures in the high twenties, as if that were everywhere and not just the home counties. At the end of the first week of June, the warmth had begun to break through and it suddenly seemed as though we'd caught up after the late spring.

I don't remember any rain until the morning of 17 June, when there had already been a little shower when I went to empty the moth trap, and I finished that just in time before another light shower.  I have a snapshot of Xena sprawled on a bit of old wood in the back garden, surrounded by damp soil, taken on 20 June. I think that might have been the morning I found about 2mm of water in a bucket. I found this website quite useful as an aide-memoire, but it only shows humidity, rather than rainfall. Then no rain, it just got hotter and hotter until we had days and days of weather in the mid-twenties, too hot to work in the garden for long. This was cool compared to what the home counties had to endure. The poor cats spent all their time trying to find patches of cool shade to sprawl in, often in the long grass, under the hedge, in a shady spot on the patio, or flopped onto the tiles in the utility room.

On 29 June I was fed up with feeling as though I was melting and declared a beach afternoon. A friend and I went to Broadhaven, where we set up the UV shelter, covered ourselves in factor 50 and had a picnic and a swim as the tide came in over the hot sand. The water felt a bit chilly - reported on the lifeguards' board as 14 degrees. I'd found my pocket kite and took it along, but there was scarcely any wind, so it would not stay up.

Eventually, on Sunday 1 July, there was a yellow weather warning for thunderstorms. I watched the lightning maps for a while as the storm played south of Exeter and then made its way up to Somerset to give a Chard a bit of a show before it fizzled out. Anyone on holiday in Brittany and Normandy would have had to shelter from tremendous thunderstorms, the maps thick with yellow and red dots from lightning strikes! The weather warning here came to nothing. Another one for last Friday was cancelled too. Some showery rain was forecast, and I leaned on my fork in the front garden, sweaty face turned to the sky as the first drops fell ... and then stopped.

It feels as though I've spent weeks with sweat dripping down my back and into my eyes. Yesterday evening, a cool 14 degrees tempted me to put on a jumper. The forecast is still reasonably fine, cloudy with sunny spells and several degrees cooler, with another light shower due later.

There was a time during the winter/early spring, when the ground was completely waterlogged. I remember sploshing my way down the garden, with water pooling on the surface in places. Now, any dampness is locked in the baked clay soil. Worms have tied themselves in knots to aestivate deeper in the soil. Plants without tap roots and which like damp soils, like Primroses and Lady's Smock, have struggled and in some cases died. I'm not sure whether my new, expensive roses will make it, either, despite my best efforts to keep the pots watered. On the other hand, the brambles have loved it, sending up new shoots from their deep roots.

The Big Butterfly Count starts this Friday and schools break up for summer holidays next week. I wonder if decent summer weather will continue, or will the westerlies bring rain? We could do with a downpour to clear the air.

Early June moth trapping

Compared to the 23-24 May, there were many more moths in the trap when I looked at it early on 5th June. I had so much quiet fun, and had forgotten how addictive going through the trap contents can be. You just never really know what you're going to get. But, deary me, my identification skills are so rusty, I'm still trying to sort everything out a month later!

A benefit of setting up the trap on my patio is that I can sit on the swing seat while I empty it and record the contents (and the swing seat canopy shades the light from shining directly into my next-door neighbour's back bedroom. The light doesn't bother me, but it would be unfair to disrupt other people's sleep!)
Another benefit is that, if it's warm enough, I can deal with the contents while I'm still in my pyjamas and then go back to sleep for a couple of hours.
I sat in the early light, with just my cats, the moths and various birds for company. Well before the builders in the field behind me started work with their noisy machinery, I could hear a skylark singing. The jackdaws in the chimney were talking, the young making sleepy chackling noises. Sparrows cheeped and twittered and the Blackbirds took turns in and out of the privet. It was bliss.

As it was already light, some of the moths in the box were impatient to go and a few escaped before I could record them. Remembering my training and tips from the former Carmarthenshire county moth recorder, Jon Baker, (if you're slow on ID, photograph everything as you empty the trap), I grabbed my camera and managed to snap the next escapee as it settled briefly on the paving. So pretty! What are you?

I'd caught an unusual angle, but I recognised the white markings; a Gold Spot, Plusia festucae. I've only had one before, several years ago, when I found a pupa loosely attached to a broken flag iris stem by the farm pond. I mused over the white markings I could see through the case ...

and kept it safe for a week or so until it hatched into a fresh and beautiful adult, which I then released back near the pond.

With the moths in the box fairly secure, I looked around for those which hadn't settled in the trap. A strikingly-marked moth was sitting on the side of the growhouse. Yet another which is common but new to me: a Treble-bar, Aplocera plagiata ssp plagiata. It occurred to me that I should start a new list of the moths I've had since I moved to Pembrokeshire.

As I worked my way back to the box and then through the box contents, the number of different species began to mount up. I found another 'Ooo, what are you?' and new one for me on the frame of the swing-seat: a Figure of Eighty, Tethea ocularis.

Look, it says '80' on the wings!

My digital camera isn't the best for close-up shots, but it's proving an essential aid. This cute, tiny thing is responsible for at least some of the leaf-mines on the lilac. Like so many micromoths, it only has a Latin name: Gracillaria syringella. There are English names around for most of the common micromoths, but few have been formally accepted. It would make things easier - the multi-syllable Latin names can be cumbersome. I saw this was informally called a Common Slender, although I would have thought Lilac Leaf-miner would be more accurate. Although you could argue that it's neither lilac-coloured, nor exclusive to lilac (it likes privet, too, and it's welcome to it!).

Gracillaria syringella

Reviewing the photos, I realised that some snapshots weren't as helpful as I'd hoped. Many of the smaller micros are shown in the books in side view and I'd taken a dorsal (top/back view). Then there are some moths which are highly variable. Thank goodness for online sites and help from other local moth recorders!

There were loads of Common Marbled Carpets, which needed to be checked in case they were in fact Dark Marbled Carpets. Dark Spectacles, checked in case they were just The Spectacles. I tussled over the difference between two very similar, but subtly different moths, one of which was a Poplar Grey. The other was a Knot Grass, and I remembered I'd seen a Knot Grass caterpillar sometime previously. A third, plainer grey moth turned out to be another new one for me, the Miller. Were the Small Square Spots really SSS or Ingrailed Clays? (Working from forewing base to tip, is the colour pattern of the outer crossline dark-pale-dark (=Ingrailed Clay) or just pale-dark (=Small Square Spot).) I even managed, with much cross-referencing to other online photos, to identify the two pugs (Grey and Common).
It's like a game of spot the difference (and spot the moth, in the case of a Poplar Hawk-moth which had settled on the pebble-dashed wall) where you also need to take into account the likelihood of the species' occurrence, based on flight season, distribution and status (abundance, or not) for where you are in the UK.

Did I say something about a lack of moths here when I emptied the late May catch? Silly girl, be careful what you wish for! I ended up with 121 moths of 48 species (and that's of course not including the ones which got away!). I'm not going to list them all here, the photos above pretty much cover the wow factor! Highest numbers were Elephant Hawk-moth (13) and Common Marbled Carpet (11). No wonder it's taken me a long time to sort them all out. Hopefully, surely, I'll get quicker as I get back into practice!

Spring Gather and the Big Flock 2018

Having missed the Joon Dance Spring Gather workshops last year because of my damaged back (right QL), I wanted to join in this year's, despite my worries about walking/dancing on uneven surfaces. With lots going on in early April (visiting teacher workshops in Lampeter, relaunching my belly dance classes) I managed to mix up days and dates and ended up missing the first day's workshops. I only realised because I caught some comments on Facebook after day 1, and hurriedly made arrangements to participate in day 2.
On day 1, I missed a guest teacher who led sessions in Solva woods and on the beach. The weather wasn't too bad and everyone seemed to have had a good time, using the environment to inspire movements and phrases.
On day 2, it was overcast, cold and breezy with rain forecast. We gathered at Solva community hall, then walked to a nearby play area with swings and other bits of kit. It was refreshing not to see a sign stating that the equipment was for children's use only. Why shouldn't adults have some fun too? The assumption always seems to be that it will encourage rowdy youths to gather, threatening younger children and breaking the equipment. We were an inter-generational group, all ages, and not all that rowdy either. We had a fun couple of hours exploring the equipment and generating movement ideas, then showing each other, before the wind picked up and icy rain started to slap at our faces. By the time we got back to the hall, it was coming down hard.
Luckily Zosia had booked the hall and we could spend the afternoon creating short pieces inspired by the three environments. Even though I'd missed day 1, the others in my group brought me up to speed and I had great fun being a tree, being a rock on the seashore. (What was that strange hand gesture? It was a limpet or periwinkle travelling over the rock/my body to graze on the algae.) Repeating some of the playground moves without the equipment, remembering how it felt to be hanging and twisting around a chain was interesting in a somatic way; recalling the feel of the cold metal, the way my body moved. All good fun, even when we couldn't hear each other for the clatter of rain and hail on the roof!

Big Flock was a public event open to anyone on Newgale beach, Pembrokeshire on April 2018 organised by Holy Hiatus in collaboration with Joon Dance. People were invited to be part of a human murmuration and asked to wear mainly greys and blues. We were also warned to wrap up well, and considering the cold wind and hail the previous day, that seemed like a good idea. However, the day turned out bright and sunny and I ended up taking my fleece jacket off and wearing it tied around my waist!

The original music used for the film was composed by Andy Wheddon and you should be able to see Ruth Jones' film of the Big Flock 2018 on Vimeo here.

Hog Heaven

I've been aware for a while that someone other than my cats has been helping themselves to the cat food. I put it down to interloper cat, who is back after a long absence. Sometimes, it sounds like an animal eating as quickly as possible, and  I've gone out to see a black and white rear disappearing down the garden. Once, while Greebo was sitting on the patio step with his back to the door and had completely missed that the interloper cat had gone in and back out again!

At other times, though, it sounds more delicate. And both cats have been with me, and apparently not inclined to go see off an interloper.
The other evening, I heard the delicate rattle and crunch of cat biscuits being eaten, so went through to the utility room to see who was responsible ....

I've known there was at least one hedgehog around here since I moved in. The cats found poop in the back garden, and I've seen some in the front (it's a long way round via the park if you're a hedgehog and can't just stroll through the house, also assuming the fencing allows a way through, so probably at least one hedgehog). I've occasionally heard some snuffling and rustling. Now this one seems to have become so used to trundling into the utility room and back out again that noises in the house don't cause a rapid exit, nor do the bemused cats watching as their food is being eaten (I wish I'd been quick enough to get a photo of them too, the expressions on their faces!). Not even me, standing and watching. Satisfied, s/he (no idea which sex it is) bimbled out again, round bottom bobbing along as s/he carried on down the garden path and under the lilac tree.

So - meet Bimblebum, (good name, I think) who is now popping in every evening to raid the cats' bowls and any spilled bird food. Yes, I know I've named a wild animal for the second time in as many months. It's just a distinction for this hog here, as opposed to any others (although if two were to turn up for food, I probably wouldn't be able to tell them apart). Yes, I know, soft as butter, letting them all eat me out of house and home.

My first concern was whether the cat biscuits were okay for hedgehogs. Bimblebum seemed to be enjoying them very much and rejected the dish of soft food when I offered it, turning back to the biscuits. Luckily, I have a friend who established the Pembrokeshire Hogspital (also on Facebook). She reassured me the biscuits would be good for the teeth and suggested it might be a female feeding babies. If that's the case, the most likely location for a nest would be under the pile of privet prunings by the back fence - handily close to compost bins and heaps with their larder of slugs and snails, and there's a little path of well-flattened grass leading underneath. Alternatively, the shed, which I seldom go into because it's such a struggle with the door half off its hinges, but that gives any nesting hedgehogs, or birds, access.

A couple of nights ago, there was much rustling and snuffling, as Bimblebum went the length of the garden, down the hedgeline and up through the rough grass, then slalomed back via the evening primroses before dashing over the bare ground to the lilac. There was a lot of eating going on, and a surprising turn of speed when bimbling is too slow. I've been concentrating on the front garden, so the back has escaped from me (again), but it seems like it's hog heaven here.

Hopefully s/he's not taken up residence in the house!

Mr and Mrs Blackbird

I tried to make a dent in the overgrown privet hedge as soon as the weather stopped being vile, which this year was in April (and even then, not for long ...)
I only managed one session before the pair of blackbirds who nest in the hedge made their feelings clear. They were creating their nest, please could I stop and go away!

In early May, I was sure they were sitting, although I wasn't sure I heard chicks. Mr Blackbird has a particular call when he came back into the garden, a sort of 'Hi Honey, I'm home!' Then they seemed to spend time away from the nest and although I didn't see the young birds, it was as if each had one which they were feeding from the safety of the hedges. They also spent a lot of energy alarm-calling from the garden next door, and with my cats on their best behaviour, I knew it wasn't their fault.

Then it all went quiet. Mrs Blackbird came out of the hedge every so often, but there were several days where I didn't see or hear Mr Blackbird at all. Then last week I saw him with a beak stuffed full; he flew into the privet and swapped places with Mrs Blackbird. A little listening and observation confirmed they were feeding chicks.

Mrs Blackbird is the more confiding of the two. She's wary of the cats (quite right too!) but seems to realise that if I'm around, I'll warn them off.

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been concentrating on the front garden, digging up all the grass and weeds (the bindweed is horrendous!), removing stones, glass, bits of plastic and so on, leaving freshly turned earth. Mrs Blackbird has noticed and has started to hold up progress and give me an excuse to sit down to rest more frequently as she pops down to inspect the recently dug areas. She gathers a beak full of grubs and worms, poops to lighten the load and then flits back over the house into the back garden. She also seems to have remembered that I am the distributor of dried mealworms, and occasionally just looks meaningfully at me until I toss a handful her way. She has started to come within a metre of me if I'm sitting and still, while I talk to her quietly.

Mrs Blackbird: So, where are the mealworms then?

 My blogging was interrupted earlier by Mrs Blackbird shouting/alarm calling. I strode out of the back door, demanding 'What's going on here?' whereupon Xena slunk guiltily from the patio area and Mrs Blackbird flew from the patio to the washing line, still shouting in alarm. Xena would not stay in, and my disapproval was enough to send her up to the end of the garden while I tossed a handful of mealworms down for Mrs B and looked at where she'd been. After a few minutes, a chick popped out of its hiding place behind the tool store and eyed me expectantly. Mrs B had evidently been using one of my first strawberries as baby food.

The cats are in, much to their disgust. A fresh round of alarm calls showed that the cats had gone to sit, all eyes, ears and whiskers, by the glass patio doors from the dining room, so I've had to shut that door as well. I'm hoping she has the sense to guide the chick to somewhere less obvious and accessible while she's left in peace to feed.

Ridge and Furrow cowl

This seemed like a good pattern to use up some of my mighty acrylic DK stash and it had been languishing in my Ravelry queue for ages, so I started it in mid February.

Initially, I loved it. I chose navy as the main colour, and another 16 contrast colours: teal, moss, olive, moorland green, sapphire, violet, lavender, lilac, magenta, claret, royal purple, aubergine, royal blue, mid-blue, petrol and pine (a dark bluish green). With 5mm needles and a provisional crochet cast on, I was off and it progressed quite well. I decided to work forwards and backwards through the colours twice and loved the colourful garter stitch ridges standing out against the navy background.

The more I knitted, the more I fretted about getting the ends neatly and securely knitted/woven in. I'd dismissed the idea of somehow carrying the various yarns up one of the edges. I put it down for several weeks while I researched methods of tidily working in the ends and picked it up again just to get it finished. By three quarters of the way through I'd fallen out of love with it, and then became even more fed up when it came to tidying up all the loose ends. At least picking up stitches onto a 5mm circular needle in order to finish the edges was quick and I liked the colourful purl 'blips'.

It's very nice, but the hassle of knitting it has cured me of wanting it for myself. I've decided this one is for the sales basket on my craft sales table at a local midsummer fun day next weekend. This one-off is destined for someone else!

D18 Dance Festival

This time last year, I was working on the Desert Rose contemporary belly dance veil fusion collaborative choreography. I really wanted the group to take it to Arts Care Gofal Celf's annual community dance showcase, but we had only scratched the surface of the work and would have been nothing like ready to show it, so I didn't apply for a slot.

I would have happily resurrected it for this year's showcase, D18, but two of the four dancers are no longer available, and it's the sort of piece where the patterns and cascades of repeated movements only show up with more than a few dancers.

In preparing the relaunched classes, I was working with a couple of Natacha Atlas tracks, in case any dancers wanted to learn some choreography, potentially performing it at the Cardigan Belly Dance Festival, first weekend in August. I asked for a slot at D18 this year in the hope that the classes might take off, and had arranged additional rehearsal time for anyone wanting to perform something quick and simple. And if no one wanted to perform, then I could do a solo and hopefully attract some attention to my classes.

The dance showcase is over a weekend at the Torch Theatre in Milford Haven, with morning workshops and afternoon shows. I skipped the Saturday (so much to do!) and I didn't go to the workshops (knees feeling fragile and complaining a bit after bouts of digging the garden), although I looked in on one where an agile man was apparently mimicking an insect travelling low across the floor. There is no way I could have attempted that!  During lunch in the cafe I saw a tech whom I knew from summer school, and found that we were on the main stage! I've only danced in the studio theatre before now. That being the case, I thought I had better go up to the auditorium to wait for a slot where I could orient myself on the stage.

The show was a fairly casual affair, with music handed in a little before hand, no tech run and some flexibility in the running order, handled really very well by the compere and technical team - only one or two small glitches. There were college groups and groups for dancers with learning disabilities, young children, professionals - a real mix, but largely contemporary and street dance, some of it really beautiful and technically skilled, some just sheer fun. I loved it!

I'd decided on a semi-improvised piece with veil to Soleil d'Egypte, reasoning that my usual baladi improvisation might be a little inaccessible for some of the audience. (As it turned out, there were a couple of people in the audience who had done belly dance and would have got it!)

I'm increasingly finding it difficult to warm up sufficiently to dance my best at haflas and the like and this was no exception. I went into a back corridor and ran through a good five-minute warm up, before putting my belt on and slipping into the wings during the piece before mine.

Then it was time. I felt quite small on the big stage. I'd given my camera to a member of the audience who agreed to record my piece, but I forgot to explain the zoom, so looked quite small on the film too. The bright 'sunlight' lighting bleached out features, and the camera struggled with the contrast, but the pic below was one of the better moments, although most of it has been cropped out.

When you forget to explain the zoom function to the person kindly recording your piece with your camera ...

And then it was over! People seemed to enjoy it and I had random compliments afterwards, as well as a couple of enquiries for class details. One woman came to chat and explained that she was just visiting, had done some belly dance but had given it up and since we were more or less the same size (actually, she's nothing like as rotund as I am!) she had some costume to send me. I gave her a business card with my address, and a few days later, a gorgeous green and gold Egyptian-style overskirt/belt arrived. I'm so very touched by her generosity.

As for the piece, I was originally thinking of a class choreography without veils, but after dancing with one, have changed my mind. Now I need people in class ...! Or am I going to be repeating this solo at the Cardigan Belly Dance Festival in August?