I did a butterfly survey with my seven-year-old daughter Celestia, standing by our little pond. In five minutes we identified Red Admirals, Painted Ladies, Peacocks, Orange-Tips and a pair of Green-Veined Whites. These are all relatively common garden butterflies but as the season goes on I hope to see more unusual visitors to the garden.
Celestia has taken to the whole thing with great enthusiasm and now has a dedicated notebook. I have started to help her make nature notes of the sort that are subsequently useful (remembering for example to include the date, time of day, conditions, number of individuals spotted, what plant they were on, etc).
All butterflies are exotic and beguiling but the Swallowtail, which is now vanishingly rare and only to be found in the Norfolk Broads, is particularly beautiful. I am delighted that Celestia is keen to accompany me on a mission to spot it.
I have never forced any of our children to pay attention to nature because I think parental overtures of that sort are usually counterproductive, but a few weeks ago Celestia spotted a Cinnabar moth in the meadow and it captivated her. Of all the moths these have the most splendid livery: bright crimson and black. What started as the chance discovery of a moth in the glancing golden light at the end of the day seems to have sparked a burgeoning passion.
The world of flying insects is a beautiful one. People tend to notice butterflies first (although for Celestia it was a moth), but an interest in butterflies can quite quickly segue into an interest in moths. Moths are certainly not dull things. Many are unusual and interesting. A personal favourite of mine is the Puss moth (sighted occasionally in our garden) which looks like a peer of the realm, wrapped in ermine.
The developing lepidopterist, as she masters the world of larger moths, at some point discovers the even larger, and invariably more complex and challenging world of micro moths. Plus there is the scintillating and majestic world of dragon-flies and damselflies (Odonata, in the trade) or the curious evolutionary side alley of the parasitic wasps, or St Mark’s Flies (the ones that bumble around ponds and hedges on warm days with their legs hanging down) – and we haven’t even mentioned bees.
The world of flying insects provides an endless reservoir of interest, but, of all the things in the countryside that worry me, the decimation of the insect population is the greatest. Insects are a food source for other animals, but they are also a critical aid to crop pollination. It is not an exaggeration to say that without them we would face ecological collapse, of the sort that would trigger starvation.
All the signs are deeply worrying. The latest butterfly report places half of Britain’s butterflies on the risk of extinction list. Half. But for those of us who live in the countryside we don’t need reports to know there is trouble ahead. I remember as a child my mother had to wipe the windscreen when driving in the summer in order to be able to see through it. Remember those buckets and wipers at petrol stations? When was the last time you had to wipe yours?
The volume of flying insects has reduced drastically. If you need reports to take this seriously there are plenty, but I don’t. What no one knows is what level of reduction will spark population collapse in any given species. It is not the case that you can just run the population down before, hopefully, surging it back up again. At some point there are not enough individuals located sufficiently proximately for the population to recover at all. At this point you say goodbye to the species. That is why green insect-friendly “corridors” are essential.
In my part of the world, East Anglia, if farmers would spray less and replace a few hedges it would greatly help. If they could find their way to introducing ponds and little marshy spots in unproductive corners of their fields that would be an even more important boost. In the 20th century many farmers tore hedges out to make bigger, more profitable fields, but now we have miles and miles of crop bearing fields that are essentially wildlife deserts.
Farmers are only trying to make a living. We should collectively pay them to do the right thing. If we don’t we will regret it. Einstein allegedly said if the world lost its bees, humans would follow four years later.
A friend told me the other day that he visited a garden that was “thrumming” with life. That is why I garden. I want my little postage stamp to absolutely buzz with life. I want it to stand as a little diverse bastion against the rolling, largely lifeless, fields that surround us. We all know what to do; don’t cut deciduous hedges every year, grow native plants, let grass and wildflowers grow, leave some stands of nettle, have a pond (and a second if you can). Together we can do it, but this is probably our last chance.
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