The timing could not have been better. A couple of days after plenty of rain the sun had warmed the earth again and out on the plains, on some of the barest patches of land, we were literally struck speechless by the spectacle before our eyes - the autumn bloom on the steppes. It was the patch of Autumn Crocus that first caught our eye: small and flimsy lilac-purple petals appearing as if out of nowhere. Getting on our hands and knees, or even better lying flat on the ground, gave us a long ground-level view down the slope of an old drovers' trail. The isolated clumps of crocuses miraculously merged into a colourful hue, a haze of pink revealing just how many of these flowers there were.
As we silently explored this tract of ancient common land, we came across other species. What had initially appeared as a rather barren corridor of withered grass and thistle stalks, with an emerging green of fresh grass shoots, we discovered instead was a treasure trove of flora. It was a case of tuning in and focussing down. There were hundreds upon hundreds of my particular favourite, the Autumn Snowflake. delicate little white bells hanging down from spindly dark stalks.
Dotted amongst them were the tiny purple spikes of Autumn Squill and the miniscule Serotine Narcissus.What all of these species shared was paradox, indeed many paradoxes. They turn autumn into a second spring, they are at the same time ephmeral yet a statement of resilience, individually tentative and so easily overlooked, but collectively create a breathtaking display. They all produce a shoot which turns into just a stalk and flower, in a matter of days, but with no leaves at all. There in is the wonder of them all. Their leaves grew in spring, where they would have been indistinguishable (at least to my eye) amongst the myriad of other plants creating the Extremadura spring. Unobtrusively they soaked in the sunshine, storing energy and nutrients in their bulbs. Their leaves withered and died back during the long summer drought. With nothing visible of their existence, no clue to their presence until the first good autumn rains, they then emerge to flower, a gorgeous conquest of their habitat.
They offered the only source of nectar and pollen around and attracted a multitude of insects: Brown Argus butterflies, pollen beetles and small bees. And as we soaked in this special autumn treat, Calandra Larks chased and squabbled with each other, dashing in noisy packs across the grasslands whilst the first Meadow Pipits of the winter called as they passed overhead.
Sharing this experience with me was Derek, Zena, Phyllis and John, and it was simply wonderful to watch each person in solitary communion with this experience, in quiet and profound satisfaction. For Derek it was his fifth time in Extremadura and I remember his first visit when he told me that he liked to return to favourite places, at different times of the year to get to understand them at depth. And so he has been back to visit us, at five different moments of the year and with a broad interest as a curious naturalist.
Dragonflies can be excellent here in Extremadura in autumn and thus during this visit, we explored different habitats in pursuit. The vivid Violet Dropwing we found on the banks of the River Tajo in Monfragüe National Park. This plum-coloured species is abundant in tropical Africa and has been spreading into soutrhern Europe over the last forty years.
Whilst this Long Skimmer is also a recent arrival from Africa and we found several specimens at the Arrocampo reservoir nearby.
With strictly no rushing around and with plenty of time for relaxed pottering around in different habitats, we found without any special effort a dozen species of dragonfly and nearly thirty species of butterfly as well. This first week of October had proved to be highly productive for plants, butterflies and dragonflies, with the birds as well providing an exciting supporting cast, summer felt prolonged the presence of a few stragglers like an Egyptian Vulture and Short-toed Eagle, autumn passage was at its peak with masses of Whinchats whilst the scent of winter approaching was marked by the first Common Cranes arriving to feed on the fresh stubble fields, their bugling call now becoming a daily feature of the soundscape.