Country diary: Following the flight path of a meadow brown

Barston, West Midlands: It’s been a strange year so far for butterflies, and I get my summer meadow brown moment beneath a roaring jumbo jet On one of the longest days, my mum and I walk through Warwickshire countryside near her home beneath the flight path of Birmingham airport. The planes are loud enough that we have to pause our conversation as they thunder overhead. This is second nature to Mum but it’s jarring for me, especially as the landscape looks as if it might have remained the same for hundreds of years. We traipse tracks worn by time, people and wildlife, shaded by gnarled oaks and flanked by un-flailed hedges that burst with life. It feels peaceful, bucolic, ancient. Then the sky fills with a jumbo jet and the present hits us with a bang. Amid the din, we make out chiffchaffs and great tits, robins and yellowhammers. Grasses reach up to my shoulders but are as tall as my much shorter mum, and sometimes I lose her in them. I get lost in them too, as meadow brown butterflies dance for a mate and I stop to greet each one of them. Continue reading...