Bark Beetles

I was disappointed to see, when I made my visit to the forest above our village, that there has been a lot of tree felling. Swathes of forest have been felled and some of my favourite spots for mushrooms disturbed in the process. Then I noticed these strange boxes on poles.

They are cause for concern, they are bark beetle traps. The bark beetle has been responsible for major damage in the Sumava National Park, sometimes called the Green Roof of Europe. Opinion is divided between those who wish to fell and dispose of infected trees and those who see the beetle's damage as part of a natural process. Direct action has happened with protesters literally hugging trees.

I am normally in the conservationists' side on issues such as this, but find myself in a quandary. I am sufficiently old to remember the destruction wrought by the dutch elm disease in Britain. I have a vivid memory of a fine line of old elms that stood on the top bank of a local field, one of which housed a rope down which the local boy scouts would slide. And I remember running and catching the leaves as the sick trees suddenly let them fall. For a few years the barren corpses of the elms stood until unsound they too fell. England lost a major natural feature, its elm trees, in a matter of months and they have not come back properly. All because of a bark beetle and the fungus that it carried. I would hate to watch the same happen here.

Airport Security

The recent conviction of terrorists who were targeting commercial airlines reminded me of an incident at Prague Airport. I noticed a large plastic bag, unattended, next to a bank of seats by the Relay newsagents. Being a Brit and thus having had to be aware of potential bombs since the IRA's attacks in the 1970's I immediately went into bomb alert mode.

Fortunately walking towards me and the bag were two Czech security police, so I walked on confident that they would see the bag and deal with it. Fifteen minutes later I walked back and there was the bag, the security police had walked straight past it. I decided that I would report it. The two policemen were now on their return patrol and so I walked up to them and told them. They hardly responded and I watched in amazement as they sauntered in the bag's direction. I do not know if they acted on my information, my flight was being called.

I cannot say how shocked I was by their attitude. Of course I knew that in all probability the bag was completely harmless, but it needed to be treated as if it wasn't. In the UK it would certainly have been dealt with efficiently and without fuss but nevertheless seriously. The Czech Republic has soldiers in Afghanistan - it is a potential target, as indeed is every country in the West. I pray to God that the Czechs do not have to deal with terrorism, as we Brits have done over the decades.

Dawn in the Woods

I mentioned that I have been wandering round our local woods at dawn. Well mushrooms aren't the only reason for going. I love the misty Czech dawns – the view across wooded hills towards the Klet mountain, the light coming through the trees picking out countless dew bejewelled webs, deer crossing my path and the song of birds.

The Early Bird Catches the Mushroom

I was up and out of the house at 6am this morning. This was partly because the weather is so hot that to attempt anything physical after 10 is foolhardy and I wanted a walk in the woods. Of course this was not just any walk but a mushroom-gathering one, and in order to get the best one has to be up early. Already there were two women in the wood rummaging under fallen pine branches. On the road on the other side of the hill several cars were parked, including this one which had illegally been driven up the track to gain a few yards on its owners' mushrooming rivals.

Well I was lucky and got a good basketful. This year is a spectacular one for chanterelles. They are huge (four inches high) but the moss in which they nestle is likewise tall, so it is very easy to miss them. In addition I got some sheep's polypore, hedgehog mushrooms and russulas. So that's my supper sorted for a couple of days.

Regular readers of this blog will know that I share in the Czech obsession of mushrooming and how in England I am often met with disbelief when I assure people I meet in the forest that you can eat what I have collected. I would like to think that my eccentricity on this is seen as normal in the Czech Republic. But this is not always the case. Czechs are taught what to collect by their parents and grandparents, they inherit a repertoire of mushrooms that they collect and often this is not large. I was taught mushrooming by a Czech with a large repertoire and I have additionally made a great study of mushroom books (so much so at least two are to be found next to the loo in both my Czech and British homes).

Today a fellow mushroomer (a Czech) stopped me in the woods, and she busily told me that the charcoal burner (a russula much prized in Britain) was not edible and wrongly identified the sheep's polypore as a field mushroom. Tut, tut, tut, she went as I showed her I was confident enough to nibble some, and away she went shaking her head. Another Czech friend with whom I occasionally go mushrooming was shocked that I collect blewits (great favourites of mine and ones which are now commercially cultivated) or fungi that grow on trees. She will however collect the blusher – which you will find often listed as poisonous in English books, but which is very popular in the Czech Republic.

So there you go, I can't win. By the way I have eaten blusher – it's okay but not worth the fuss the Czechs make over it, especially as you go through a polaver to cook it.

PS. In response to Karen's comment - here is a photo of my basket of mushrooms. The egg yellow ones are chanterelles, the charcoal coloured one is (you guessed it) charcoal burner, the white ones with the beige tops are sheeps polypore, and the large brown one is a boletus.

Update - Riverworks

My last but one post dealt with the changes that have taken place whilst I was away, however one thing remains as it was - the state of the riverworks. This is probably for the good. Just before I left Cesky Krumlov, I met with an excited friend of mine, the owner of a restaurant on the river below the castle. “I heard it on the radio,” he said, “UNESCO are coming for a visit. Because they have had letters from people about the island and the river. Bloody marvellous!” And he shook my hand.

This coincided with a rise in the river levels due to summer storms. The unstoppable riverworks stopped. And they have not started again, even though the levels are down again. The town is agog, what has happened? What has UNESCO done and said? No one knows.

On Friday I met my restaurant friend again, “What has happened? You heard what happened in Dresden.” I had heard that the UNESCO world heritage status had been removed from the Elbe landscape as a result of a bridge being built there. However I explained UNESCO have a sort of football referee system, yellow card first and if you don't mend your ways you get the red, quite a lot of places have yellow cards and very few are taken off the pitch (like Dresden/Elbe). If the UNESCO visit found, as we all believe there to be, failures and irregularities in developments in Cesky Krumlov, then the town would probably go on the at risk list, the yellow card. We must wait and see.

Meanwhile the diggers lie idle on the banks, a temporary throroughfare of smashed rocks and rubble is still in the centre of the river waiting their return. And life goes on, the island is turned a canoe park and even as in this photo a beach for bathers. The ducks are back.

PS Readers of my previous posts on the subject might be interested to know I never did get a reply to my letter to the Mayor, even though he was obliged to give me one within so many days. No surprise there then.

More Swallows

What is it about this beautiful place that allows me to find nature's treasures? I am sure that it happens at home in England too, but that my ears and eyes are stopped by the roar of modern life.

I spent an hour today watching the swallows. I blogged about them last time and the spectacle is just getting larger. It is as if all the area's swallow population has descended on our small village, hosts and hosts of them. Sometimes they gather on the phonewires, sometimes in the silver birch by the village cross, and then most spectacular of all are the times when they pirouette over the roofs and orchards. This is freeform flying, they dodge and circle, drop and rise. They skim the surface of the village pond, dipping their wings. I have been here three summers and never seen anything like this.

Salamander came to visit me and as we left the village we had to stop the car by the cross to gaze at the swallow hordes. On the side of one house swallows were dotted presumably clinging to the rough plaster, the telephone wires were like the stems of my neighbour's red currants heavy with little black and white birds, while more far more swirled overhead. We went to the village near Salamander's lake house, it felt quite empty, there were only three or four swallows to be seen.

How Little Things Grow

It is strange to come back to the Czech republic after a few weeks away in the UK. Everything has grown, the grass I so carefully scythed is now at least knee deep. The baby swallows, which when I left were still chirruping at their frantic parents from their nests in the barn, every morning now perch on the telephone wires like strings of black and white pearls. A few still have some downy feathers, but all can fly and swoop. I presume they probably can catch flies most of the day, but the telephone wires act as a feeding station in the morning, with the parents diving in and hovering in front of their young one's open beaks.

And then there is Salamander's cat Lilly. A few week's ago I held her easily in my hands, now she is long and lean and quite the little princess. She comes and goes and is absolutely certain that the world revolves around her and she is not wrong. After a false start she seems to have recognised me again, and sucker that I am, I spend a lot of time stroking her and scratching her under her chin. After all what else have I to do with my time?