The Performance

We walked through the woods this morning on what promises to be a perfect autumn day, with the last of the leaves clinging to the trees after the recent high winds.

However, today was made extra special by a performant by a red squirrel which...,

...after spotting us while on the ground, made a hasty retreat up a convent tree, looked coyly back at us, and then....

....really began to show off, starting with its left profile view, presumably is best side, then....

....an upside-down position to show off its very smart tail, followed by....

....a hug-from-below position - "Look how daring I am!" - and ending with a....

...."Well, how did I do?"

Needless to say we clapped enthusiastically.

Oranges

Maybe it was this morning's spectacular sunrise, or maybe it was....

....the equally spectacular colours of some of our last remaining marigolds, or maybe it was today's bright sunshine and 14C temperature, or maybe  it was something completely different which caused....

....one of the 'red' admirals to emerge from what should, according to this earlier post, have been its winter hibernation to flaunt its glorious orange colour.

Bovril

I have just returned from a brisk two-mile walk along tracks through the Bheinn Bhraggie forestry. Considering that the current weather is part of a storm, the prevalence of sunshine over cloud, and a cheerful south-westerly breeze which at times makes the effort to produce gusts which verge on gale force, provided some pleasant exercise, particularly in anticipation of a steaming mug of best British Bovril on my return home.

Much as I love Bovril on a winter's day, it does bring back some unhappy memories. Of the four 'home' sea passages the family made between 1945 and 1952, the ice cream which was served on deck at 11am ceased as we reached the Bay of Biscay and was replaced by Bovril - which, at that age, I didn't really like, and which was a very, very poor substitute for the ship's excellent ice cream.

I only actually remember the Bovril being served on the Durban Castle, on which we sailed 'home' in 1952, taking the passage the 'long way' round the Cape of Good Hope.

That Bovril was also served to me at my prep school brings back unhappy memories. As a boy from abroad whose parents, in those days, could only be contacted in a dire emergency, the school staff gave me some special treatment in that I wasn't served the revolting lukewarm, brown liquid they called tea but, to the envy of my fellow students, a steaming mug of Bovril. This exceptional treatment also extended to two pills, a Haliborange and a fish oil, one of each to be taken every day.

There is one other thing I like about Bovril - it is unapologetic in its assertion that it is made from beef

The First Storm of the Winter

Storm Austen missed us but Storm Boelo made up for it by hitting the northeast coast of Scotland hard, closing the A9 in several places, taking out the power supply to tens of thousands of households, and gusting at times to over 60mph. We spent most of the day hoping against hope that we, in our modern, all-electric house, would not lose our supply, knowing that we wouldn't last long if we did.

Our daughter, who has a croft towards Dornoch, lost her power in the early afternoon, but she's well-prepared, with battery storage for electricity, a log stove which does things like boil the kettle, and a Starlink connection which doesn't go down with the electricity. So she can survive quite well for a few days, her electricity board telling her that she won't get her supply back until Tuesday evening.

Yet, despite some fierce gusts during the daylight hours yesterday, walking down to the village this morning there was little sign of damage, the only evidence of the storm that I could find being a couple of trees in the forestry, above, which had come down but been quickly cut up and removed by the Estate.

So last week saw our first ground frost of the year on Monday, and the first storm of the year on Sunday; and we had another glorious red sunrise, which forecasts yet another lively weather day to come.

The Last Butterflies

Well, there was no doubt about this morning's weather forecast - the red sky warning of severe weather to come later today, affecting just about all of Scotland and continuing on through almost all of tomorrow; and with the forecast of cold weather to come - it was 4C in the front porch when we set off for the village at 9am this morning - there's very little chance....

....of seeing any more butterflies on the wing, so I think I can declare this red admiral and....

.....this painted lady as the joint winners of the last butterfly of the season prize, the photos being taken on 19th October.

There is a tension in the air, as if we humans are not the only animals which know that there's a storm coming. As we walked through the woods towards the village....

....hundreds of geese flew over, all calling, as if some of them knew that flying north probably wasn't the best direction.

Interestingly, the geese we've seen (and heard) most in the last few days were pink-footed but these were greylags.

As I walked home a noisy and very aerobatic fight developed in the sky above me recently vacated by the geese. It seemed that two carrion crows - on the right in the picture - were objecting very strongly to the presence of a raptor (bottom left). It was very difficult to identify the raptor but my best guess is that it was one of our local sparrowhawks.

Back to the Woods

We've been in Inverness for a couple of days, drawn there for medical reasons and to patronise some of the city's shops. Normally, it's a pleasant little metropolis and we enjoy our occasional visits but the weather this time was miserable, cold and wet, so what are to me the highlights of the city - the many benches along the banks of the River Ness on which to sit and watch the human world go by - weren't particularly attractive. We were also deeply disappointed in the new, full electric bus service from Golspie into the city centre.

So it was good this morning to be walking in the woods again with....

....not another human in sight and the....

....silent fungi for company.

Not that this is turning out to be the good year for fungi suggested in the early part of their season, partly because the slugs and snails have been unusually active but mainly because the fungi simply haven't shown.

On the bright side, we've had the pleasure of several old friends including....

....a few chanterelles but today's highlight was.... 

....this yellow brain fungus (sometimes called witches' butter).

That I have previously posted about all three of these this year goes to show how disappointing things have been!

Sunrise

Today is one of the special days of the year, the day that, in the great annual cycle of the heavens, we see the sunrise from our house for the first time since spring as it moves steadily southwards towards its winter solstice. In a few days the sun will be rising along the horizon to the right of this picture.

So it seems appropriate that this first sunrise of the winter season coincided with the first ground frost of the autumn, one which coated the grass of the lawns and picked out the gossamer shrouding the gorse. Not that it lasted long. Within seconds of the sun touching it, ice became became water, big drops forming to sparkle like a tiara - if only for a few minutes before they evaporated.

The day then followed the example of the last three, with the sun warming a world without a cloud in the sky, but warming it just enough for a limited range of butterflies to appear. Yesterday we saw two painted ladies and no fewer than four red admirals, but saw no sign of peacocks, tortoiseshells or whites - except for the large white's caterpillars which are still munching contentedly through our precious broccoli. And today the butterflies were even more scarce, just one red admiral and one painted lady.

Each evening, the butterflies have disappeared to the secret places where they can survive another cold night, leaving the garden robin to sing the joys of having a territory of his own.