Country diary: Achvaneran, Highlands

The vision of a Badger in your garden can be a fascinating experience. Photography: Andrew Fox the Guardian

Although we have lived in this Valley for 24 years to grow the garden still, fortunately, still out with surprises with regard to wildlife. However, it is exceptional, as in the past two weeks, they have had two incidents involved two mammals.

The first was in half later when the Mandarin and the mallard ducks in the pond below my study were, typically, loafing at the dam. Some were sleeping while others were busy preening. The young ducklings were trying to imitate the adults in preening and sometimes fall in their efforts. Suddenly everything changed as the Mallard began quacking loudly and mandarins with calls coot-like is Union. Some mallards were diving and splash, and then all the ducks began to swim laps and turns the small island. It was the culprit, and swim in the pond, was a black mink. It reached the Bank and disappeared into the bushes. At least not have domestic ducks and chickens these days but I was wondering what havoc would be airing in wildlife.

The second was late in the night, 11 pm, when I was looking down from the bedroom window. The bird table was lower, about six metres from the House. As usual, I looked into the pond where ducks were swimming around, but then there was the time when it is there that something different is happening. Had sprinkled some grain under the table for real and ducklings pintails Mandarin for supplies early in the morning. Feeding grain, there was a Badger. After a few minutes he joined and patterns in white and black heads shone and saw grey hair on the back. I was spellbound and impressed and had trouble sleeping that night.

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Country diary: Wenlock Edge

' A field Vole, running as fast as his legs could shortly carry it down the Canal, on a mission through a world of danger.' Photograph: Hugo Wilcox / photo Natura/Getty Images/Minden Pictures RM

The day was a dazzler, hot against the skin to sunlight scratchy raking the thick green July. As weakened overnight cooling paths with sky cleared, seen through dark and pointed tracery of the ash tree leaves.

Bands of swallows and house martins came together bass on wheat fields. Swooping, flicker low, the whiskers of a previous mosquito spiny seeds had grabbed a rare day of full sun to medium mature, birds have a call to close one to the other. Their gossip natterings filled the air; they were excited and full of energy, nervous and rebellious. The Swifts were off terrorizing some other sky and most other birds were closing themselves in the shadows. The swallows and martins ran around the light in a corner of the field until scarpered too to where it is during the night.

A white cat looked lane: "fine love and barley", as the Japanese poet Basho say - and slipped into the coverage of rabbit shuffled. From direction became a field Vole, running as fast as his legs shortly could take it down outside, primitive in lots of duff, definitely on a mission through a world of danger compilation. A field with a hedge of high ran a wire fence; a willow Warbler perched on a post of calls soft as sneezing that twitched his entire body. As he walked toward his position, the Warbler could fly to another and sneezing, maintenance of this for the length of the fence. I've seen robins doing exactly the same here.

Beyond of the sphere Orange street lights sparkled in Wenlock and bats appeared. They came so close, that I could hear the thrum of wings is stretched so thin that the last glow of the sky shone through them. With spirited energy as the martins, bat flickered to my about owls pronounces their own night and then the vole.

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Country diary: Lakes

"There is a green hill far away..." Hartsop Dodd by Kirkstone Pass. Photography: Tony Greenbank the Guardian

The circus of the hills which dominate the village of Hartsop is best approach to Kirkstone Pass to Tonbridge. Ahead, through the windshield, a horseshoe Mountain looms closer attention with every roll of the wheel. Tantalizing hints of Grey Pe?a, Pe?a Thornthwaite, Threshthwaite mouth, Raven Pe?a Cauldale Moor which all have their glorious moments up directly in front of you planning to Hartsop Dodd, a peak of such perfection that captive hearts.

Even in the same way you can break too. The Hartsop round is higher and further away from what it seems. That you would think, looking up to the green hill of Hartsop Dodd beck below, accumulated over its horizon resulting height is greater than the highest mountain in England? Experienced climber, maybe. But each of those who will be this horizon of gaze down the length of Ullswater, the beauty of these hills will attract much more not so blooded.

I mistakenly bite more than I can chew when trying to climb the Dodd of the pens of sheep then impregnated by the smell of sheep, but only full dip two-thirds of the rise prior to an appearance of Achilles tendinitis forces a retreat. Then - as if seen from the window of an airplane seat to land: forests and fields and Ullswater gunbarrel grey, disappear around a curve in the hills. A variety of sheep that are called trods, created by sheep fell agile, and negotiate a very steep hill it seems can be prepared toboggan on the roofs of slate of housing below.

Arriving at the car park below the my spirit level bubble returns dead (Center), its base alcoholic suggesting refresh. No such luck for this course hill Hesperus, however, with a cup of Earl Grey in the Inn where it is believed that William Wordsworth first heard the news that he had been earned Trafalgar.

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Country diary: Cambridge Botanical Garden

A crawler pub between the lavender in the garden of Cambridge. Photo: Sarah Niemann the Guardian

It is more colorful final lunchtime drinking den in the city. Extensive beds in the center of the Botanic gardens offer an arc iris of opportunity, but the bees are selective tipplers. Shun bright oranges and yellows of the blue end of the spectrum, making a beeline for plants as the Echinops spiky pompommed.

For some time I sat between a large stand of lavender, attracted by the smell and sight, intoxicated by the activity of insect. Cost me a bit to realize there are clear patterns between seemingly random collection. Bumblebees Buff tail are crawlers pub dilettante here: down to below a quick pass out again, full-bodied and impatient. Red-tailed bumblebees are drinkers the session, contained in a single place, draining every flower on its nectar.

One suspended near slowly climbing flower in bloom. It extends its proboscis, the glossy black spike texture of plastic in the form of a miniature cow horn and sinks deep sup between the petals. She lifts her head outside and look into your eyes: large dark bands as shades of rapper, a vivid lines lattice grid reminds me that it is not two eyes but a composite of many. He draws his body across his face as if they were hairy wipers. After each survey, you have to perform this cleaning action.

The bees are more numerous that face hides of lavender. They are like Blue tits in a feeder, more mobile, more acrobatic than bumblebees, deposit as the tip of flowers. Finally, my eyes lose their close approach and I hope beyond, on the grass that has been allowed to grow much. In the back, above the summits of the Prairie, Tower of beehives are blocks of wood. The newly acquired jar garden botanical of honey in my bag will be a reminder of sweet winter of summer at the bar.

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