Category: field notes

  • 1 June 2025 – Acacias and Rain

    A walk today, with my son and the dog. The air, at around 17°C, was mild despite a light, persistent rain. Or perhaps because of it – a beautiful fragrance filled the air, a complex perfume of early summer. The Broom (Cytisus scoparius) still offers some flowers, though small green seed pods now hang from its branches, a quiet signal of the advancing season. More prominent now is the Black Locust (Robinia pseudoacacia), in full, glorious bloom, its sweet scent drifting on the damp air. Adding to this chorus were flowering Dog Rose (Rosa canina) and Black Elder (Sambucus nigra), various grasses, Ground Elder (Aegopodium podagraria), the distinct aroma of wet earth, and a multitude of meadow flowers.

    Insect activity remains surprisingly low. A brief spell of heat last Saturday, reaching 27°C, was evidently not enough to stir them fully. A few moths visited the light last night, but today’s most notable sighting was a Pine-tree Lappet (Dendrolimus pini) resting quietly on our entrance door. A striking find. Otherwise, the air was largely empty of buzzing wings.

    The birds, however, have returned with early morning hunger. After a stormy night, both feeders and feeding boards were emptied by familiar visitors—sparrows, tits, greenfinches, great spotted woodpeckers, and haw finches.

    It seems the truly cold days are behind us, though cooler temperatures and more rain are forecast. I had thought to reduce the bird feeding, but given the weather, I think I will wait a little longer.

  • 27. May 2025 – Rain, hungry birds

    The days remain cool and unsettled. Temperatures hover between 12 and 15 °C, and light rain comes and goes. We walk during the lulls—sometimes under a sky that lifts just enough to let the sun reach through. When it does, its warmth feels sudden and generous.Yesterday, under such fleeting sun, we visited the small old rubble site behind the village. We were looking for Viper’s Bugloss (Echium vulgare)—a hardy beauty I’d like to establish by our fence. From the sandy soil, small, unfamiliar plants emerged, uncovered by my son’s curious little hands. I believe they are Small Cudweed (Filago minima), a delicate annual. Though not legally protected, it is listed as a threatened species (C3) in the Czech Republic. Since their roots were already exposed, we took them home too.

    Insects have all but vanished from the air. At the feeders and feeding trays in the yard, birds arrive, rain or not. I wedge fat balls into the hollow of the willow trunk; woodpeckers make short work of them—one ball gone in a day. We’ve also started mixing dried mealworms into the seed mix.

    No sign of the Common Starling (Sturnus vulgaris) or Eurasian Blackbird (Turdus merula) for a week now. But others visit daily, persistent even beyond sunset in the deepening dusk:

    • Eurasian Tree Sparrow (Passer montanus)
    • House Sparrow (Passer domesticus)
    • Great Tit (Parus major)
    • Blue Tit (Cyanistes caeruleus)
    • Great Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos major)
    • Marsh Tit (Poecile palustris)
    • European Greenfinch (Chloris chloris)
    • Hawfinch (Coccothraustes coccothraustes)

    Occasionally, the air stirs with movement from a Common Swallow (Hirundo rustica) or a Common Redstart (Phoenicurus phoenicurus). A Magpie (Pica pica) flashes past the garden.

    Though spring tries to settle, the weather remains restless. A sudden warmth is forecast for the weekend—nearly 30 °C, a sharp turn from today’s drizzle. But by Sunday, the temperatures will tumble low again, as rain and storms are coming, and beyond it, perhaps even frost.

    The land seems to hold its breath.

  • 14. and 21. May 2025 – Spring’s Struggle

    14. May 2025

    The meadow beyond the garden has been cut. In the centre of the bare field sat a Common Buzzard (Buteo buteo)—silent, still. After a while, it rose with slow, steady effort, lifting itself into the wind, and drifted beyond sight. Overhead, the breeze carried hundreds of dandelion seeds, white and weightless, crossing the blue in lazy flight.

    Morning chill still lingers, but by midday, warmth returns. After days of stagnation, life seems to move forward again. Yet the ground is dry. The water barrel by the house is nearly empty.

    At the feeder, a Great Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos major) visits daily—most often the female. She pecks with purpose at the sunflower seeds, oats, and a slick mixture of fat and oil. A Common Starling (Sturnus vulgaris) joins her, less shy now. Greenfinches (Chloris chloris) and Hawfinches (Coccothraustes coccothraustes) arrive in quiet pairs. Not every day, but often enough to feel familiar.

    A Barn Swallow (Hirundo rustica) entered my house through the back door today. She flew a gentle loop through the bathroom, examining vents and high corners, then vanished again into the yard. She returned twice more, each time bolder—once even exploring through the house, and then finally left. I hope she does not try to nest here. She is welcome, but this place holds too many dangers—dogs, cats, and now and then a Sparrowhawk (Accipiter nisus) that cuts low across the yard.

    The birdbath and the smaller drinking dish are busy now. Sparrows and tits come to sip, even the starling takes her turn. With so little moisture in the soil, I will place a wider basin farther out in the garden. Quiet water. It may help more than I know.

    21. May 2025

    The dandelions have vanished. In their place is now blooming clover, buttercup, silver cinquefoil, bellflower, and vetch. Rain has returned, and the air is cool again. Temperatures dropped from twenty degrees to fifteen. Nights are hushed. Few insects stir beneath the porch light. Only two moths came: the Sand Bordered Bloom (Isturgia arenacearia) and the Garden Carpet (Xanthorhoe fluctuata).

    The scarcity is plain. House Sparrows (Passer domesticus) now bring their young directly to the feeder. So do the starlings. Today, a Hawfinch pair appeared with two fledglings—whole family gathered on the edge of the tray.

    This season is difficult. Cold and rain during nesting strain even the hardier birds. Food is short. Adults must choose between warmth and nourishment. Insectivores suffer the most—swifts, swallows, tits. Blue Tits (Cyanistes caeruleus) sometimes raise only four fledglings from nine eggs. For the swallows still on eggs, there may be luck in delay. Their chicks, at least, are not yet exposed to the cold.

    Others manage better. Starlings, blackbirds, thrushes—ground feeders—have earthworms to draw from the damp soil. Their broods are thriving. For the rest, only warmth and sun can reopen the narrow window for a second brood. 

    This should be the last day of the rain, let’s see, what’s next. 

  • 4. May 2025 – Few kilometres into the wild

    Yesterday:
    Temperature: 25.5 °C | Relative humidity: 38% | Weather: sunny, mild breeze | Locations: mosaic of field, meadow, riparian woodland, and village garden

    A free day. We set out — son, dog, and I — past the edge of the village. The track winds across open fields and early-summer meadows, toward the stream-boundary woods and further, in a slow arc toward the muddy pondlet. The path is strewn with fallen petals from Blackthorn (Prunus spinosa) in fragrant bloom.

    Small butterflies flit past in quiet abundance — tortoiseshells, brimstones, whites — each moving too quickly and freely to name precisely. The air shimmers with tiny insects. Everything that can bloom, really does.

    The meadows are in radiant form. Among the flowering plants visible from a single spot: Field Pansy (Viola arvensis), Speedwell (Veronica sp.), Spurge (Euphorbia sp.), Honeysuckle (Lonicera periclymenum), Broom (Cytisus scoparius), a pink Vetch (Vicia sp.), Wild Strawberry (Fragaria vesca), Violets (Viola sp.), Forget-me-not (Myosotis sp.), Red and White Deadnettle (Lamium purpureum, Lamium album), Mayweed (Tripleurospermum inodorum), Field Chickweed (Cerastium arvense), and young Walnut (Juglans regia). Bumblebees drift from flower to flower. The air carries scent, and the fluff of fading Dandelions (Taraxacum sp.) rises on the breeze.

    To reach the pondlet, we passed through a dense patch of tall Stinging Nettles (Urtica dioica). The water’s edge is overgrown with Alder (Alnus glutinosa), Birch (Betula pendula), and Aspen (Populus tremula). It’s a sheltered, pleasant place. A light wind ripples the surface — enough to cool the sun’s intensity, enough to bring tiny waves across still water. From somewhere near, frogs call intermittently.

    The trail climbs next into a stony Pine grove, eventually shifting into Oak woodland — a habitat of entomological interest. We continue through mixed forest, and finally return along a sunken path flanked by now-fading Blackthorns. A murmuration of Starlings (Sturnus vulgaris) moves with us, accompanying us to the main road near the village.


    Today:
    Temperature: ~15 °C | Weather: cool, post-storm, slight rain | Conditions: rapid seasonal shift

    Yesterday reached a high of 29 °C. Today is nearly fifteen degrees cooler. Rain and thunder came through, though only lightly here. The apple tree, in full pink bloom just yesterday, has dropped most of its crown. Plants have seized the sun while they could. The next days will be cooler, with ground frost possible at dawn.

    At the feeders, I continue to offer a mix of sunflower seeds, peanuts, oats, and oil. A new shallow dish for drinking and a larger one for bathing have been added. Both are now in regular use. Two separate flocks of sparrows — two species — now treat this yard as their own. Great Tits (Parus major) and Eurasian Blue Tits (Cyanistes caeruleus) also visit daily. Among the more notable regulars are the Great Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos major) — most often a female, occasionally relieved by the male — and Greenfinches (Chloris chloris), usually one pair, sometimes in two pairs. A beautiful Hawfinch (Coccothraustes coccothraustes) starts to appear as well, once with a mate. A small mouse emerges at dusk among the feeding stones, quietly taking its supper.

    At night, several moths have come to rest near the outside light:

    • Latticed Heath (Chiasmia clathrata)
    • Scalloped Hook-tip (Falcaria lacertinaria)
    • Small Yellow Underwing (Panemeria tenebrata) — the Field Chickweed (Cerastium arvense) is now flowering profusely
    • Pale Oak Beauty (Hypomecis punctinalis)
    • Early Thorn (Selenia dentaria)
    • Garden Carpet (Xanthorhoe fluctuata)

    All remain to be processed and logged.
    The garden, the yard, quietly, is alive.

  • 5. April 2025 – Wetlands

    Finally a day off. Saturday morning – I’m heading out into nature with my little son and our dog. We’re going to check out the wetland. On the way, we pass a badger’s den (Meles meles) gaping from the stream bank. A bit further on, there are more and more entrances to the badger labyrinth. We don’t go closer and continue along the stream.

    We pass a small game enclosure, from which an European fallow deer (Dama dama) watches us with a calm but cautious gaze.

    And now we’re at the wetland. The sun is starting to warm a bit, and the air smells like spring. Floating on the water are clusters of slime with tiny black dots – the next generation of pond frogs (Rana). Right beneath my feet, a partridge (Perdix perdix) bursts out of the tall dry grass and vanishes with a cry into the nearby forest. I look back and see she has been sitting on a fresh clutch of eggs. We quickly move on so the partridge can return and warm her future offspring as soon as possible.

    Tomorrow, we’ll go to see the other wetland – the one further by the forest, where the meadow saffron grows.

  • 3. April 2025 – No time

    I’ve been kind of caught up in life lately. Or rather, I don’t have time to go out into the countryside. Well, I do, but I go with my son and my dog, so we do other activities than collecting plants for the herbarium or bird watching and so on. You just can’t do that with a dog. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with my son!

    So I just watch everything turn green and start to bloom. It’s a beauty that frustrates me, as I feel the need to take phenological notes and expand my herbarium.
    So, for now, my amateur activity remains nightly butterfly mapping.

    Last year was the hottest year in Clementinum in 250 years. The average temperature reached 10.3 °C (50.54F), two degrees above the so-called normal from 1991 to 2020. It was particularly warm in February and March.

  • 25. January 2025 – Like in Summer

    It has warmed up again, with temperature records broken at several weather stations. The sun was shining, and it reached up to 14 °C. The remnants of snow and frozen puddles have melted, and water lingers in the muddy furrows of the fields, just like in spring.

    I’ve started serving fat balls to the birds in the feeders, made from pork fat, sunflower seeds, and oats. I scatter part of the mix around the yard as well. Along with usual flocks of Great tits (Parus major) and Eurasian tree sparrows (Passer montanus) , three feeders and their surrounding now repeatedly attracts two pairs of Common blackbirds (Turdus merula), a pair of European Robins (Erithacus rubecula), and a pair of Eurasian collared doves (Streptopelia decaocto). Among the tits, Eurasian blue tits (Cyanistes caeruleus) have joined in more, thanks to the adjusted menu.

    Yesterday, four Black-spot Chestnuts (Conistra rubiginosa) emerged into the light. They are associated with blackthorn (Prunus spinosa), which is abundant in the area, and this is their season. In any case, these were the first moths of 2025!

    Black-spot Chestnuts (Conistra rubiginosa) visiting.
  • 14. January 2025 – Butterflies out, birds in

    The European Climate Service Copernicus has confirmed that last year was the warmest year on record.
    On a walk around the village, I photographed the birds’ nests, now exposed in the leafless bushes. The GPS coordinates stored in the metadata of the photos point about a kilometer off, so it was a pretty pointless activity. But there are four new small pools on the lower creek I walked along, which made me happy.

    No more butterflies flying around for a long time. It’s finally cold, meaning below zero. Predatory birds, especially buzzards and kestrels, are perched in the trees on the sides of the roads and trails. The sun is still warm. There’s little snow, but enough to draw birds from the surrounding area in.

    I added a new, smaller bird feeder to the 30-year-old but still functional bird feeder. It has been a success; the bird wings are now constantly rustling in our yard.
    The sunflower seed is clearly a winner.

    Bird species on and around the feeder (old walnut tree, apple tree, shrubs):
    Regular visitors:
    Great tit (Parus major) (abundant)
    Eurasian tree sparrow (Passer montanus) (abundant)
    Eurasian blue tit (Cyanistes caeruleus)
    Marsh tit (Poecile palustris)
    Great spotted woodpecker (Dendrocopos major) (pair)

    Irregular visitors;
    European Robin (Erithacus rubecula) (pair)
    Common blackbird (Turdus merula)
    Eurasian chaffinch (Fringilla coelebs)
    Eurasian collared dove (Streptopelia decaocto) (pair)
    Eurasian jay (Garrulus glandarius)
    European green woodpecker (Picus viridis)

    This weekend was the 7th edition of the “Bird Hour”, an event of the Czech Ornithological Society (CSO), which invites the public to count birds at the bird feeders. It is an annual weekend of citizen science. Similar censuses take place in different countries, but what is relatively unique is the close cooperation of the CSO with colleagues from Bavaria, Austria, Switzerland, Slovakia and Serbia, which allows us to compare results across borders.

    And the overall results so far?

    The results from our county are 91% complete, and closely mimic the birds on my feeder:

    All the data on the web of the Berd Hour project.

    And what about the moths and other butterfies from previous year? I still have to process all the data, but The iNaturalist platform clearly summarizes the results of my butterfly observations over the last year:

    171 species! Pretty mental, huh?

    And the overview of the whole project? 264 species.
    I never thought there would be so many for a single KFME grid cell!

  • 25. November 2024 – Good bye my friend

    Shared joy, double joy. Shared sorrow, half sorrow. My best friend died today. Cancer. It was quick, within days. I dare say he lived a happier life than most dogs. He was used to walking free, off leash, because he knew when to wait and when to go. He was calm, friendly, loving and a very smart dog.

    His final place would be at the end of the garden without a fence, at home, overlooking the fields and woods where he was used to sprinting for the joy of movement and speed.

    He was nine and his name was Jan Ámos.

  • 19. November 2024 – Fog, Sun and birds

    It’s getting colder. It is almost as if someone snapped their fingers, and autumn is here in full force. Last week, there was thick fog both day and night. Twice, while driving home along country roads, I had to rely on GPS navigation to know when to turn because everything around was a white haze.

    The walnut tree in front of the house turned yellow and dropped all its leaves within a few days (we had them covering the yard and clogging the gutters). The Great tits, Blue tits, and Eurasian tree sparrows (Parus major, Cyanistes caeruleus, Passer montanus) have returned—I put out some fat balls for them, and ever since, two flocks have been around the house constantly. Dendrocopos woodpeckers returned, and even a green woodpecker appeared—probably a Grey-headed woodpecker (Picus canus) or a young (smaller) European green woodpecker (Picus viridis). A chaffinch (Fringilla coelebs) has also been spotted in the area.

    With the trees now bare, bird nests are revealed, making it the perfect time for mapping them.

    Although the temperature dropped quickly, it hasn’t gone below 0 °C yet. And according to forecasts, real winter (with snow and such) isn’t expected until the second half of January. This year is expected to be the warmest on record.

    The butterflies have disappeared, and there is the occasional lone flyer that wanders into the light, like the mottled umber (Erannis defoliaria), the December moth (Poecilocampa populi) and the winter moth (Operophtera brumata).