Ever the optimist, I’m hoping for the weather to turn in March. Now that February is over, it will be remembered for its lack of light (our gloomiest ever February) and only one dry 24-hour period. (As I write this, the Met Office data for February and indeed the whole winter, has confirmed it’s been the dullest in Wales since records began).

Maybe not the wettest February we’ve ever suffered, but certainly the dullest. Unfortunately, March began like this.

The month was at least enlivened (fortunately) by just enough half sunny days to allow bees to fly, snowdrop flowers and crocus to open very briefly, and for us to wander around the land without such a risk of slipping on mostly sodden, muddy, terrain.

Before the seismic events of February 28th, playing out (for now) in the Middle East, I’d been motivated to write a poem to try to capture my mood, around the middle of the month.

However, first I’ll feature the wonderful morning of February 14th, the day after a Friday the thirteenth, which won’t recur in this month for another 11 years, apparently.

This is a long compilation of just a few clips I filmed from about 7.30 am in the morning, when wonderful light and unspoiled birdsong filled valleys devoid of any other sounds. Or noise. A rare moment of serenity.

By this point, my YouTube feed had also introduced me to the self-styled ‘Quad God’, Ilia Malinin, the ice skater from the U.S.A. who had triumphed in all competitions in the previous 3 years, and was hence a shoe-in for Olympic Gold at the gathering in Cortina, Milan last month. Except, as many will know, nerves or pressure got to him, he fell a few times in his final ice dance routine and finished out of the medals. I refused to watch any of this, preferring to remember him from this 2015 World Championship routine, which is where I first encountered him, and with skating too extraordinary to seem possible.

 

Friday the thirteenth           –       17/02/2026

Cold, dull, wet, grey: grim leader’s toil,

Storm blown. The day before a lover’s dawn,

A bad luck curse we’ll not repeat

‘Til twenty thirty seven, we’re told:

An age to wonder what, when, who

Will move and shake our worlds as we grow old.

 

February’s not planned for men,

Least not here now, slip-sliding down

Slick, poached mud slopes, spread molehill, sodden fields.

A curse for real quad gods, or you and I.

No, February’s for frogs’ mad frolics

‘Neath bogbean stems, stiff dead mare’s tails

 

Grasped amplexus, croak-splashed air,

Their annual love fest, thrill-filled days. Cold

Ecstasy curtailed: grey tensioned feather,

Sad, shed clue – stabbed end to coital bliss.

So brief, not stretching years, where time and place

And troth charged memories light starless skies.

 

No, February’s for snowdrop belles

Which shed rain’s tears and ever hopeful wait

For flirting bees, tip-tongued to seal their fate.

Fused union, chilled with leg brushed guile.

Dawn prayers, dark skies now cleared, faint crescent moon

Bright thrush-sung madrigals, and chorused joy.

 

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Down at the ponds in our lower meadows, frogs kept spawning in waves, from February 7th onwards, and my rough estimate is that around 300 clumps were laid in total over about 2 weeks. And some was even laid in ditches.

We were first alerted to it by the early morning sight of a heron leaving the upper pond, as we trekked down with walking sticks over slippery fields to feed the sheep their hay.

Sure enough around 55 clumps had been laid in the usual location near the edge of the eastern bank. No frogs were visible. A couple of days later there was much activity and noise from happy frogs splashing around the pond’s surface – we deduced the heron hadn’t visited that morning after we’d disturbed it previously.

More clumps appeared, and then about 10 days later spawn appeared in the lower pond, which always happens after the upper pond – perhaps the air or water temperature is subtly different?

As always, toads are slower to start their mating behaviour, and it’s much more difficult to spot their linear strings of spawn laid wrapped around vegetation in deeper water. I haven’t seen any of their spawn for a few years, yet toads are often found around the garden and fields. However we did find a pre-mating pair in daylight, on February 24th, trying to cross the yard in slow fashion.

The smaller male, gripping the female as she has the onerous task of carrying them both to a very distant pond, hundreds of yards away. I think she has a raw deal, and seemed to be only capable of short bursts of slow walking before pausing for breath. Is this also why their pupil size is noticeably different? Is any pleasure involved at this stage of their pre-spawning ‘courtship’? We now know that amphibians can exhibit signs of empathy, or ’emotional contagion’. Discussed in this recent paper from 2024: (Physiological state matching in a pair bonded poison frog :Jessica P. Nowicki; Camilo Rodríguez; Julia C. Lee; Billie C. Goolsby; Chen Yang; Thomas A. Cleland; Lauren A. O’Connell)

Their paper’s abstract begins thus:

More than a century ago, Charles Darwin hypothesized that the empathy-like phenotype is a phylogenetically widespread phenomenon. This idea remains contentious, due to the challenges of empirically examining emotions, and few investigations among non-mammalian vertebrates. We provide support for Darwin’s hypothesis by discovering partial evidence for the most ancestral form of empathy, emotional contagion (i.e. matching another individual’s emotional state), in the pair bonding mimetic poison frog, Ranitomeya imitator.

As in ‘higher’ animals, the onset of sexual activity in frogs is dependent upon hormonal changes in both males and females, which prelude the time of mating. Females certainly respond to sound cues, as is discussed in this paper, (‘Female sexual arousals in amphibians’, by Walter Wilczynski and Kathleen S Lynch). There is good exploration of the importance of both oestrogen and progesterone levels in modifying the frog’s behaviour. Much less is known about the more immediate changes in hormones at the actual time of mating:

“However, it is the case that we know very little about the more rapid signaling between male and female anurans (frogs/toads -sic) immediately before they enter amplexus or about such signaling during the amplexus period, and any consequent behavioral or physiological changes that may occur during either of these parts of their reproductive interaction.” 

When trying to discover just how long toads can stay joined in amplexus as in my photo above, I discovered that in some species, it can last for weeks. Thus I was prepared, but still amazed, to spot what may well have been the same joined pair of toads, caught in flagrante as it were for a second time, last night in the rain – still in our yard, and still an awfully long way from the nearest suitable body of water for spawning. Nearly 6 days after I first saw them! I’d say he’s literally taking her for too long a ride.

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I must delineate the next short piece from talk of amorous anurans. There really isn’t much of a link, other than the time of the year.

Last year, Fiona and I completely missed making any real effort for Valentine’s Day. This year we both gave cards and a present – perhaps we felt more of a need for an emotional boost after being ground down by the long winter and our perception of the current state of Britain and the wider World.

However, Fiona took the prize for best imaginative and creative effort. Inspired by a small article she read in a magazine in a mini-break we enjoyed in January, she created a very special treasure – a Victorian puzzle purse. Which for those who’ve never heard of it before, as in our case, is a mix of origami and hand painted illustration with text. The photos below, quickly taken today, don’t do justice to her detailed artistry. I am indeed very fortunate to have such a multi-talented wife for so many happy years.   

This seems the right point to include my musical interlude –  two versions of a song I only discovered this month. I’m still unsure which I prefer. First the original, in an old live recording by Bruce Springsteen.

And a later version by an older, more mellow voiced, Paul Carrack:

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By a remarkable stroke of good fortune, most of our many early garden visitors were blessed with seeing the garden in our few rare dry sunny weather windows towards the end of the month. And since our honey bees have been largely trapped inside their colonies by the inclement weather for most of 2026, few of the early snowdrops were pollinated. There was therefor a much wider overlap of early mid and late forms, and given that any sunshine in late February has sufficient power to get snowdrop flowers to open wide, the garden looked better than it ever has at this time of the year.

Though very demanding, (particularly for Fiona who had to prepare and serve about 60 teas, whilst I discussed plants – (similarities with the toads’ division of labour?) it was wonderful that so many people made the trek here and left inspired by the sights, smells and sounds of our garden. We always gain so much from meeting all these people, and welcoming them to Gelli Uchaf. Some had travelled from quite a distance, and it was lovely that quite a few made some memorable and much appreciated comments about aspects of the garden which often aren’t commented on.

Our last Crocus finally had the opportunity to open briefly in what has been a very disappointing year for them, and at last on February 22nd, the garden was filled with the noise of bees visiting flowers. Even the first bumblebee queen was sighted after emerging from her long hibernation.

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For whatever reason, and I’m still uncertain about the triggering factors, it seems that 2026 is going to be a good year here for daffodil flower numbers. They’re also opening earlier than in many recent seasons. These are the advance guard of our daffodil display.

So here’s a quick rollcall of some of the flowers already open for St. David’s Day. In many recent years to have a single daffodil in flower by March 1st has created a real challenge. Not so in 2026.

Tenby daffodil – Narcissus psuedonarcissus obvallaris.

Rapture

Eaton Song

February Gold

Snow Baby

Special Envoy

Mary Poppins

Casual Elegance

Gelli seedling Narcissus pseudonarcissus lobularis

Jetfire

Brunswick

Winter Waltz

Tête-à-Tête

Victoria

Topolino

Jack Snipe

Little Witch

 

 

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Things were looking up, as we walked down to feed the sheep early in the morning of February 19th, and Fiona paused to photograph and record the Song thrush. I waited at the gate quietly, not wanting to spoil her sound recording. What an idyllic soundscape, and start to the day! Maybe click, and listen to this as you read to the end of the post.

 

We walked on and down through the field.

And then.

I shall only include this image taken 2 days later. We have a few others, but they are too awful to include.

I suppose I could exclude any mention of this event from this blog, and just share this blurry image which Fiona took 2 evenings ago, 10 days after Fiona’s song thrush recording, as Jetfire delivered her first, bonny lamb – last year she didn’t ‘take’ to the ram.

Nothing special about this, except that Jetfire is doing everything on pre-programmed, inherited or epigenetic sheep auto-pilot.

She can’t see the pretty ewe lamb, whom we’re calling Mary (Poppins) after the hoop petticoat daffodil shown earlier. Since 10 days ago she had both eyes severely damaged by a marauding crow/raven or kite. She currently has zero vision. It’s likely she will never see again. As well as having a beak or claw created surgical slit of about 8 inches under her tail down to the tail vertebrae.

I’d always considered sheep’s wool as wonderful insulation and rain protection. In fact it’s also protection against such powerful predatory beaks and claws. But cast on her back, the tail, anus, vulva, eyes are easy targets.

I’ve struggled to come to terms with what’s happened here – this is how such birds exist. It could indeed be viewed as an eye for an eye. Or life in these late winter months when food is scarce. One of the most brutal, primitive, and personally affecting, hard hitting examples of the rigours of the natural world which we’ve experienced whilst living here.

What happens next remains to be seen. Just 24 hours later, Mary was bouncing in her pen, as young lambs do, and beginning to explore. Jetfire is behaving as an exemplary mother, who has bonded brilliantly with her new-born.

In the context of the last 2 days in the wider world, this is an irrelevance. A practical problem to be muddled through as best we all can. The clock cannot be turned back. We hope it has a more positive ending than seems likely at present.

Perhaps the same can be hoped for international affairs

Early this morning, as more rain fell on another grey, sodden scene, we brought Itzim inside, across the muddy field, since she was beginning to take herself away from the others at feeding time. Less than an hour later, as I returned to check on feed and water, I did a double take. Up and active already, another ewe lamb. Fiona already has a shortlist of  other ‘M’ daffodil names for us to choose from. Another miracle.

Life goes on.