Some time ago, possibly 100 years ago, while avoiding the draft or some such nonsense we visited Chambers Farm Wood in the darkest depths of Lincolnshire. With a vague plan of action over what we would like to see, we crossed the bridge, paid the troll’s toll, and had a pleasant enough day.
Whilst I basked in the tiny yellow flower’s glory, a holler from a nearby gentleman informed us of our target species, the marsh fritillary.
Some Victorians, back in Victorian days, concocted a system by which certain butterflies are called by different names once they are seen. So if you come across a duke of burgundy on your travels, you may refer to it as ‘His Grace’ (and only if you have seen it). Typical Victorian behaviour, probably thought up whilst watching Victorian television and writing Victorian raps. Following our Victorian forefathers, we have now dubbed the marsh Fritillary ‘M-Fritz’, and it shall it only be referred to as such once you’ve cast your ghoulish eyes over it’s presence.
Our second target for the day was the broad bordered bee hawk-moth. Unfortunately, it evaded us. Probably because it has an absurdly convoluted name. Once it sorts it’s act out we’ll give it another go. However whilst searching for the BBBHM (that’s better) I found this flower.
It took me bloody ages to work it out what it was. So long, I didn’t actually work it out myself and someone else told me what is was. The wood aven will stick with me for a while, and I shall use it as reminder of my own short-comings, like a wound from battle.