The pollinators have been active today, but the butterflies haven’t been about much. The difference is that a stiff north westerly breeze leaves plenty of room for a pollinator to operate, but it doesn’t do much for a butterfly. If you have generously proportioned wings they are going to act like sails in these conditions.
As I see them zip past I’m reminded of a story I once read as a child where a small sailing dingy was blown off course by a storm. I can’t recall the name of the book, though I suspect it was probably a device used by several writers, as I’m thinking both C. S. Lewis and Enid Blyton.
Main job of the day was tidying up the willow work in the central area – tucking some back in and trimming the rest. The ones that are woven back are mainly secured with plastic cable ties. Even professional willow weavers seem to use them. The fedge is starting to look good, though I’m still not sure it’s so far from being a hedge we need a new word for it.
The trimmings are a great favourite with the goats, who prefer hedges to grass. As a youngster, having read that Native Americans chewed the bark of willow to deaden pain, I gave it a go. It’s probably the bitterest thing I have ever tasted. It’s worse than sloes. The goats love it.
Incidentally, they are in disgrace after breaking out of their pen last night and invading a neighbour’s garden. I think that makes them ‘scapegoats.