Before I go any further, I’d like to offer sincere thanks to everyone who said charming things on the occasion of my 12-year blipversary yesterday, and bestowed so many awards on the post that my gorgeous face is currently Top of the Pops. My ears are still quite pink from all the compliments, and while I suspect very strongly that I don’t deserve so much praise, I’m happy and touched to have received it. You are all lovely people.
I came down to earth with a bit of a bump this morning, when the heat woke me at 6.30am and it quickly became clear that I wouldn’t be getting back to sleep again any time soon – but as I had a lot to do anyway, I decided to lever myself upright and get on with getting on. Because I was pretty stupefied by heat and lack of sleep, it was a couple of hours later before it occurred to me that I might not be the only one up and about on such a hot morning, and when I wandered outside to check the patio pond it was clear that something of a mass damselfly emergence had already taken place. Because I’d forgotten to clear away yesterday’s (many) exuviae I couldn’t estimate how many newbies might have flown before I turned up this morning, but between about 8.30 and 10.30am R and I counted seven Large Red Damselfly and eleven Azure Damselfly emergences, from a free-standing 50-gallon container. All but one of them chose their supports well and eclosed safely, and as always, the sight of the tenerals fluttering away to the trees on soft, reflective wings brought big smiles to our faces.
By 10.30 the sun was full on the patio, the heat was awful, and the emergences stopped for the day, so I decided it was time to do something more useful than hovering over the pond trying to protect teneral damselflies from marauding House Sparrows. But as I was walking back to the house, big camera in hand, I saw this Hummingbird Hawkmoth on the red valerian growing by the kitchen door, and all thoughts of usefulness promptly left the premises.
For years I thought of this species as an autumn moth, because I only ever seemed to see it in September, but over the past couple of years it’s been turning up in the second half of the summer, and this season it has surpassed itself by arriving in spring. We saw the first one last Friday evening, but it was nervous, and by the time I’d tiptoed past it to get the camera from the house, sneaked back to the patio, discovered that the battery needed changing, slithered back to the kitchen to get a fresh one, and finally crept back out again, the moth had lost patience with my antics and left. Luckily, today’s was either a different specimen, or someone had given it a confidence-boosting talking-to, because it took absolutely no notice of R and me as we stood close by, watching it and chatting, and didn’t so much as twitch when I pointed the camera at it. R is quite right when he says that they’re weird-looking creatures – I always think they look positively manic – but they’re unique among our cast of garden inverts, and for me their strangeness is part of their charm.
R: L2, C10, D5.
