By: MARGARET BROWN
Margaret Brown is one of The Resident’s longest standing contributors and has lived in the Algarve for more than 20 years. As well as Country Matters, she also writes Point of View every week.
MONDAY MORNING dawned grey and degrees colder than of late, a real pleasure because we were driving to Faro shortly after breakfast.
The A22 is a tedious route at any time and having flogged up and down it for many years, the old car knows every pit stop en route.
Service stations are an asset, but so far the food on sale is uninspiring and the restaurants nearly empty of customers. Our granddaughter and fiancé were returning to England after a wonderfully sun drenched week, having chosen to stay in Lagos. Being town dwellers, they appreciated the buzz, the music and above all the great plasma screens set up in the town centre so that everyone might watch the football. After dark the main square with its quota of places to eat, live bands, a roundabout for the children and every choice of ice-creams drew the crowd like iron filings to a magnet. Above all the breeze was warm and gentle after a hot day.
Young and very much in love, only one thing marred the hotel – on four nights out of seven, their room was visited by large and very active cockroaches. Each was captured after a chase and handed in to reception before breakfast, the person behind the desk accepting it without comment and the young guests shy of making a fuss. The establishment having been given several stars, the last thing expected was to share a bedroom with livestock.
Bearing in mind that the first roach fossils date back more than 300 million years and the insect is an all time survivor distantly related to termites, it is understandable that specimens find a way into every nook and cranny.
Nevertheless a thorough cleaning should have removed any squatters.
Closed book
All living things are a source of interest and none more secretive than troglodytes of the underworld.
What goes on beneath the ground on which we walk, build houses upon and do all the thousand and one other things peculiar to the human race is a closed book – until some creature emerges into the light and surprises by its unfamiliarity. The other day I was clearing an area of Kikuyu grass in front of the house which Millie and her canine friends soil from time to time, and out of the corner of my eye saw movement. Something the size of a golf ball, brown and round, was rolling along apparently under its own steam. Closer inspection revealed how – a very large brown Dung Beetle over one inch long and half an inch wide.
Head down, two back legs on the load and four front legs giving motive power, this humble relative of the revered Egyptian Scarab beetle propelled its load to an underground site. As I watched, the ball subsided from sight through a thick matt of grass. Once it is in situ in the earth beneath, the female lays her eggs within the odorous orb. They hatch, the larvae devour the dung, pupate and later change into mini-replicas of their parents and the whole cycle begins again. Much valued for their cleaning of pastureland, these members of the sanitary squad have been imported into Australia and America for just that reason and work alongside native species of the same family.
Ancient Egyptians likened the rolling of a dung ball to the heavenly circuit described by the Sun – a symbol of daily renewal, of human resurrection and Khepri the solar God. Carved Scarabs worn as amulets were believed to give the power of eternal life, others were used as talismans and a facsimile of this beetle was exclusive to the royal seal.
Ultimate survivors
A talisman would be most welcome with which to protect my car against rats because although these rodents breed all year round, springtime is the peak period and about now there will be an upsurge in numbers. Reports of chewed plastic caps and wiring in the engine area are filtering along the local grapevine, both our vehicles bearing tooth marks from an invasion last year which in my case was purely cosmetic, but proved expensive for the Boss.
Putting down poison in the car port rather than under the car bonnet appears to be the only short term solution. It is worth remembering that gestation in a rat takes three weeks, and five weeks from its birth a youngster is ready to mate with any available male be it father, brother uncle or cousin and to have her first litter in another three weeks. Such replication puts pyramid selling in the shade and suggests that together with the Ant, Rats will be the ultimate survivors on earth.
Now that vegetation is being crisped by a sun at the top of its trajectory (rising to the north of east and setting to the north of west), days are at their longest with the Summer Solstice on June 21 in the northern hemisphere. Fire risks are high and the man who keeps our plot tidy put his lad to strimming the rough ground between house and the wild hills.
Quail have been our constant companions since returning from their winter quarters in Africa, piping an unmistakable song at first light and during the evening and we regret their loss of valuable cover. Nesting in a scrape on the ground, laying an egg a day up to about six, the hen bird incubates her clutch for two and a half weeks and some have multiple hatchings. Perhaps one or two will remain in the tussock grass along the boundary fringes to rear their chicks.
