In this lawnmower-less summer we have been inclined to point a parched finger at the weather for every absence, aberration and adaptation in nature. Since the beginning of June, I have not seen a slug, centipede, millipede, or earwig. Worms are unknown outside the compost heap, mosquitoes thankfully unheard. The sole snail of the season was summoned into the open last week by an early morning shower. Caught short by the drying sun halfway up a fence, it sealed its shell shut and waited for moisture at nightfall to descend.
We have entered the peak period for peacock butterflies, yet only five were reported last week in the whole county. I see butterflies pass through the garden, and they are nearly all blue or white. What have nettle-dependant caterpillars made of this year’s shrivelled crop?
A cricket on the landing carpet and a violet ground beetle marauding over the bathroom floor were predictable products of our wide-open window policy, but why was a great diving beetle walk-rowing around the car park at Anglesey Abbey the other day? Why have garden ants taken to extreme excavation, producing unprecedented mini-volcanoes of crumbled earth? Are they digging deeper to find cooler places for their eggs?
A group of us went late one scorching afternoon to Flitwick’s old arboretum, stuck in a frame of mind to expect the exceptional. And we found it, not among the trees but on a broad strip that had been mown through the meadow long before. Facing us in the middle of the baked dust path was a common toad, so well camouflaged in its desert combat fatigue skin that we almost trod on it.
Someone suggested moving it to the soupy-looking lake beyond the lank straw grass field. But toads need ponds only to breed. What should we do? I crouched down to look hard at the animal, assessing its clear, bright eyes, stocky limbs and great gulping breath. “I think we should leave it where it is.”
We walked on, our sandals pounding on the hard earth, and not one of us looked back, maintaining, for just a few seconds, an uneasy silence.
