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You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2017/dec/12/country-diary-wasp-gall-pulborough-brooks-west-sussex
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| Version 1 | Version 2 |
|---|---|
| Country diary: wasps have the gall to remind us of their earlier presence | Country diary: wasps have the gall to remind us of their earlier presence |
| (30 days later) | |
| Pulborough Brooks, West Sussex I have the reserve to myself, save for a flock of bullfinches and the geese and ducks collecting on the flooded fields | Pulborough Brooks, West Sussex I have the reserve to myself, save for a flock of bullfinches and the geese and ducks collecting on the flooded fields |
| Rob Yarham | Rob Yarham |
| Tue 12 Dec 2017 05.30 GMT | Tue 12 Dec 2017 05.30 GMT |
| Last modified on Wed 14 Feb 2018 17.04 GMT | |
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| Small black clouds of starlings fly up from the fields and whirr for a short distance before dropping back into the long grass. Seven Canada geese call to each other as they fly past, descending onto the flooded fields to join the other geese and ducks collecting there before dusk. I cross the brooks from the river Arun, my boots sinking into the soft, smooth mud. On the patches that have remained in shadow all day, the ground is still frozen and it crunches underfoot. Dark grey cloud slowly spreads from the north-east. | Small black clouds of starlings fly up from the fields and whirr for a short distance before dropping back into the long grass. Seven Canada geese call to each other as they fly past, descending onto the flooded fields to join the other geese and ducks collecting there before dusk. I cross the brooks from the river Arun, my boots sinking into the soft, smooth mud. On the patches that have remained in shadow all day, the ground is still frozen and it crunches underfoot. Dark grey cloud slowly spreads from the north-east. |
| I follow the footpath uphill, to the RSPB reserve, and stop by a small young oak tree. Its branches are decorated with round, brown marble galls. Someone has helpfully marked the tree with a laminated RSPB tag to point them out. A small wasp laid her eggs in the tree buds, leaving the larvae to form the galls, in which the grubs fed, grew and emerged as adults in the autumn, their exit from each ball marked by a round hole. Some of the galls have begun to shrivel, the wasps long gone to breed and lay more eggs, which will emerge as a new generation in spring. | I follow the footpath uphill, to the RSPB reserve, and stop by a small young oak tree. Its branches are decorated with round, brown marble galls. Someone has helpfully marked the tree with a laminated RSPB tag to point them out. A small wasp laid her eggs in the tree buds, leaving the larvae to form the galls, in which the grubs fed, grew and emerged as adults in the autumn, their exit from each ball marked by a round hole. Some of the galls have begun to shrivel, the wasps long gone to breed and lay more eggs, which will emerge as a new generation in spring. |
| The reserve is quiet. In the cold and growing gloom, I seem to have it to myself. The short, soft “seep” calls of hiding bullfinches ring out from the bushes lining the footpath. I wait for the secretive birds to emerge. Eventually, a male – grey with a bright pink breast, black cap and black wings – lands at the top of a tree. He is joined by several duller grey-and-buff-coloured females, as well as another male. One by one, they flit across the path, and their white rumps and black tails disappear over the tree tops. | The reserve is quiet. In the cold and growing gloom, I seem to have it to myself. The short, soft “seep” calls of hiding bullfinches ring out from the bushes lining the footpath. I wait for the secretive birds to emerge. Eventually, a male – grey with a bright pink breast, black cap and black wings – lands at the top of a tree. He is joined by several duller grey-and-buff-coloured females, as well as another male. One by one, they flit across the path, and their white rumps and black tails disappear over the tree tops. |
| The sun sinks towards the South Downs on the horizon. The remaining brown leaves on a large oak tree light up red. Through a round gap in the brambles, I watch the sun set, turning the water on the brooks a bright molten orange. As the last light fades, I turn and continue up the hill, leaving behind the soft honking of the geese in the darkness. | The sun sinks towards the South Downs on the horizon. The remaining brown leaves on a large oak tree light up red. Through a round gap in the brambles, I watch the sun set, turning the water on the brooks a bright molten orange. As the last light fades, I turn and continue up the hill, leaving behind the soft honking of the geese in the darkness. |
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