Avian invaders

Sighted in their "natural" habitat - outdoor seating for the rose garden cafe, shaded by a grape-vine covered pergola.  There they are, hungry and ready for action... 

Sparrows!  Actually house sparrows - there are hedge sparrows too.  

Likened to the Norwegian rat and the house mouse - hitching a ride with human migration - they seem to be everywhere.  One local cafe, asking people not to feed them, calls sparrows "rats with wings!" 

But despite their pestiferous qualities they are also cute and engaging and, like ducks, are fed quite a bit of bread by children playing here in the rose gardens in the Wellington Botanic Garden. 

Bright eyed and quick moving, these little dinosaur descendants are also ready to take any unguarded food.

Incoming sparrow, wings aloft!

Butter - a fast way to get that winter weight on.  

I have only recently learned the history of the house sparrow in New Zealand - there are differing accounts, but the gist is that a small number were deliberately introduced to help control agricultural pests.  It's the usual story - a small number arrived, they were wildly successful - but not as agents to control pests, more a pest themselves, eating fewer of the insects and caterpillars and more of the grains that were being grown.  Within 20 years futile sparrow-elimination efforts were underway.  Sigh.

And these young sparrows just wanted you to know that they are actually as clean as can be - fluffed up and grooming while perching on the cafe chairs, a brief interlude in the constant search for food.

A coastal rock garden

On Wellington's south coast there are some sandy beaches, but otherwise it is a quite dramatic and really rocky shore.  Despite the harshness of the environment some very determined plants make these rocks home, surviving the lack of soil and exposure to drying salty winds and fierce gales.

A tiny tree - karo, or Pittosporum crassifolium, growing from a split in a rocky outcrop at one end of Houghton Bay, looking towards the rock formations by Princess Bay. 

Even smaller...

A tiny shrublet of taupata, Coprosma repens.  This is a plant which can happily grow into a tall shrub or small tree if conditions are better (see earlier posts). 

In both cases, a seed dropped by a bird has somehow germinated and thrived in a small fault in the rock which is able to collect water and accumulate some organic matter, in effect creating a tiny flower pot.  Of course, the very qualities which mean that a plant can actually develop and thrive in such conditions suggest that it could be overly successful, and that is the case for karo which is seen as a potentially invasive weed in some situations.  And speaking of weeds, there are other plants that grow and flourish on the rocky shore, but these ones are not a problem...

Seaweeds exposed at low tide, growing on the rocks and in the water at the end of Houghton Bay leading to Princess Bay.  At a distance, the plants seem muted, overwhelmed by the overall rather austere appearance of the rocks - the green of little coprosmas on the formations in the distance is barely visible, and the seaweeds seem to be a rather dark and dull presence.  But closer up, they are more vibrant and colourful...

Brown, green and red (I think) algae - the different colours and forms of the seaweeds, including the long sculptural blades of kelp and the bright green of sea lettuce.

Even brighter!  Contrasting colours and forms. 

Time for me to learn to identify the wonderful range of seaweeds here.  And yes, there are seaweed weeds too - invasive aliens coming from ballast water and similar sources, behaving like thugs, elbowing out the locals - its just like the problems that can arise with introduced terrestrial plants, and even some native ones like karo.

Reflections on a Town Belt sunset

Sometimes I find that if I just look up and see the vast expanse of the sky I can feel calmer and get a sense of perspective on the foibles of humankind.  We're just a small part of this very big world.  And right in the middle of Wellington is this well-tree'd hillside, part of the quite extensive Town Belt.  I find it provides a refreshing  backdrop to the central city and Parliament Buildings - this is the capital of New Zealand.  Storms in recent years and maybe the drought we have just experienced have killed a number of the trees.  The rather ghostly presence of their silver skeletons contrasts with the deep green of the live pines and other evergreen trees.

So life, death and regeneration are there for us all to see, in the trees of the Town Belt.  And transience and change is even more evident in the rapidly changing cloud patterns and colours of the sky at sunset - it was golden, then pastel blue and pink, then soft grey all within a minute.

No matter how much human effort is put into being certain and in control, we are subject to the same forces as the sky and the trees.  Maybe if we paid more attention to being in tune with the natural world, we would be more accepting of things that are out of our control, less fearful, stressed and striving, less prone to look for what's wrong and who to blame.  It's a different energy.

A fiery sight

Every autumn this sight grabs my attention.  It looks as if flames are licking along the upright branches of an evergreen tree in the Wellington Botanic Garden.  On closer inspection it is clear that all is well, but there is no lessening in the visual drama.  The fiery colours are the leaves of Parthenocissus tricuspidata (Boston ivy or Japanese creeper) in their full autumn regalia.

When it comes to enjoying autumn leaf colour Wellington suffers a double disadvantage - our maritime climate does not deliver the temperature variations which favour the development of intense colours, and we have winds which quickly blow away any leaves that do put on a display. 

Parthenocissus vines are reliable in colouring up regardless (Parthenocissus quinquefolia, or Virginia creeper, is also a very decorative plant.)  They can be used to beautify walls or unsightly areas or even to provide insulation by shading the walls of a building in summer.  But they are vigorous climbers and have to be kept in check if they are not to smother other plants.

Their display is most welcome right now, as the days get colder and wetter and more grey, and before there is much colour from any other deciduous plants.  This year it looks as though some plants have responded to the drought with early loss of leaves, helping them to manage with so little water - so even less colour from them.  But the glossy leaves and colourful display of these Parthenocissus suggests that they are coping well despite the long dry late summer. 

A close up of Parthenocissus tricuspidata leaves growing along a wall, and many that have already fallen on the grass, showing a glorious mix of reds, golds, greens and pinks.  This image was captured in a spell between the periods of quite heavy rain - which is most welcome, but rather dull!

Rain, rain, beautiful rain - and a tiny snail

At last there has been some decent rain over most of the North Island, and we have had some of it.  There is a lot of catching up before the soil moisture is back to normal but already plants look fresher, more perky.  And the raindrops are a very pretty embellishment.  But wait, there's more...

I was admiring the glistening drops on the rather tired fennel heads, flowering mostly over, seed not yet set, when I saw a tiny snail.  Generally I don't regard snails with fondness - they have big appetites - but this diminutive version was very appealing.  It was so young it had a white foot and its pale translucent body, when extended - presumably in search of food - revealed some of the little snail's anatomy. 

With its body stretching upwards we see the eyespots at the end of its two long tentacles and the smaller tentacles above the mouth are also extended.  The dark nervous tissue coming down from the eyes forms clumps, or ganglia, and the pale brown streak is its gut, I think.  The white foot is holding on to the stalk of a fennel flower.  At the junction of the shell with the body and foot there is a little dark spot with some glistening around it which I think is moisture beside the breathing hole.  It was on the move...

Food!  In the act of feeding on a fennel flower, its little white foot holding on tight.  As it ventured further up it was lit by the bright overcast sky.

With this backlighting the dark ganglia are even more evident as is the delicacy of the shell, showing shadows of the organs it is protecting.  But the little snail is now quite exposed...watch out for the birds!

And oh for a macro lens - these are tight crops, so I regret that they can't be enlarged further.  But I still had fun finding out more about snails than I knew before, and enjoying some small-animal cuteness.

Friend or foe? - Muehlenbeckia complexa

On a farm fence line, wiry brown stems intertwining to make a tangled mass - a New Zealand coastal plant - Muehlenbeckia complexa.

Pohuehue is the Maori name but it is also called wire vine, for obvious reasons. A vigorous vine, with support it can climb to 4 or 5 metres, or it will clump along the ground to form a dense groundcover - great as a shelter and nesting site for birds and a habitat for insects, lizards and other small beasties, and useful for dune reclamation or smothering introduced weeds. 

But these qualities also mean that it can become a weed in its own right - it has become established and problematic in Australia and in California.

Here it is beginning to form a hedge at the edge of a paddock. 

Although it looks rather dull from a distance, it has very pretty little cream coloured starry flowers and it produces black seeds held in little fleshy white cup-like berries - food for the creatures that shelter in its dense cover. 

So - in the right place a really useful plant supporting the ecosystem,  but an invasive pest requiring a sustained eradication/control programme in San Francisco.  Success in the plant world is not always welcome in the human scheme of things.

Calm waters for paddle boarding

Not much wind, high cloud, the water is calm and flat and the light is too - softened by the cloud cover, rather muted.  Altogether a gentle kind of day.  And in the early evening, coming along the coast road I spied some stand up paddle boarders, taking courage presumably from the calm waters and making their way quite a daunting distance around to Island Bay.

Accompanied by a swirl of seagulls, and dwarfed by the setting, two people paddle their boards towards Island Bay.   As they approach Taputeranga a fishing boat is heading out from the shelter of the bay.  Island Bay is part of a marine reserve and the situation is unusual in that it also provides mooring for a number of fishing boats - which needless to say, have to leave the reserve area in order to do the fishing.

Fishing boat passing and paddle boarders approaching Taputeranga.  They are almost invisible, swamped by the vastness of the soft blues of water and sky and the rugged rocky outcrops of the coast.  (And one paddler was indeed swamped by the wake of the boat - but he got up quickly again, and all was well - they made it to shore.)

For the birds - Taupata (Coprosma repens) in fruit

The rich glossy green leaves of the "mirror plant" taupata (Coprosma repens) have persisted despite the drought (still no decent rain here!) and these remarkably resilient coastal plants have been fruitful as well.  Their bright orange berries, technically drupes because the juicy flesh encloses the seeds, are very attractive to birds. They feast on them, liberating and spreading the seeds.  Thus taupata plants pop up in all manner of locations - on rocky outrops on the coast, low growing as if they are crouching in response to the wind and the ocean spray, and at the other extreme as small trees with more abundant leaves and upright spreading form where there is good soil and a better life to be had. 

A self-sown small tree has grown by a wall at our gate and arches over it, shaped by the wind.  Every time I open the door to walk out it seems I catch the sight of a bird, often a blackbird at present, quickly pecking at another berry before making a tut-tut noise and flying to a higher spot.  And when I walk under the arching branches of the little tree I can look up to see the bright green of backlit leaves and the luminous orange of the ripe fruit, glistening in tight little bunches.

From summer through autumn the bright orange drupes of taupata provide a colourful display, a feast for the eyes and the birds.

A beastly sighting - a bag moth caterpillar

There is always something new to learn.  Today I saw something unexpected and unfamiliar - and, I confess, I found it quite unattractive and a bit disturbing at first - maybe because I didn't know how to regard it.  Was it a benign beast or was it more sinister?  Maybe its distinctive colouring was suggesting "don't mess with me!"  (Often brightly coloured caterpillars are advertising to predators that they are poisonous or unpleasant to eat - they don't need to try and hide to survive.)  Or maybe it was just that it took me by surprise and I was sure it was up to no good on my dwarf almond tree - although it was actually just hanging onto a green garden stake, and moving up it ever so slowly.

But soon enough it emerged again, just the first few segments stretching out then pulling the long brown bag up a small distance, then stretching out again. 

Thus it gradually climbed the stake.

When I went to check it later, it had disappeared.  By then I had figured out it was a bag moth caterpillar.  There are many different bag moths and many styles of bag decoration/camouflage, and while the male bag moth has wings the females are wingless and often don't leave the larval case.  They tend to have tough eggs, usually left in the protection of these tough bags.  While this sounds like a smart strategy, they are often subject to parasitic attack.  Nothing's perfect.  In this case the bag had an almost felted appearance, with little decorative bits of plant and twig.  It reminded me of homespun fibres.  Which it was, and it was a spun home too.

Honeybee on helenium flowers

Autumn flowers are like autumn leaves - often brightly coloured in golds and reds - but for different reasons.  The colourful leaves of deciduous plants are letting go, having fulfilled their function.  Autumn flowers are active, producing pollen, attracting bees, setting seeds.

A honeybee at work on helenium flowers.  Heleniums are often part of colourful autumn displays.  Originally from North America, they were called swamp sunflower or sneezewort (quite a few flowers have this connection, but this time it is not because of the effect of their pollen but because the leaves were used to make snuff, apparently).  There are a good number of garden cultivars in gold and red colours.  I haven't grown heleniums, but they are said to be easy to grow and disease resistant, preferring rich moist soil.  But despite the dry conditions they were putting on a great display in the Wellington Botanical Gardens.  And the bee was busy appreciating them too.