On weathered stone, the ladybirds gather—drawn by warmth, instinct, and something older than reason. Photo by Роман Раскошный via Pexels
The owl didn't blink.
Stone eyes stared sightlessly into the trees.
Then the rock began to crawl...
We cycled out to Jubilee Woods the day after Storm Amy finally blew itself out.
After three days of gale-force winds and torrential rain, the day was blissfully calm. And warm.
For October, it was unseasonably warm. The sun burned low in the sky, blinding but welcome.
As we approached the woods, a ladybird passed us, flying down the track and into the trees ahead. A harbinger of what we were about to witness.
We had barely set foot in the woods before they opened out into a clearing dominated by a giant stone owl.
The sculpture must have been 12 feet high and was oriented facing away from the track. The owl's sightless stone eyes gazed off into the trees, and from the track all you could see was the owl's back.
Leaving the track, I angled across the clearing in a wide arc so I could view the owl face-on. As I approached, I saw a couple of ladybirds on the stone's surface. Then a handful. Then, as I drew closer still, my gaze took in more and more, until I realised the entire sculpture was crawling with hundreds of ladybirds.
There were several different species among the swarm, and more were arriving by the second, flying in from the trees which surrounded the clearing and alighting on the surface of the statue.
It was eerie.
It was too late in the year for mating, and none of the bright red-and-black beetles showed signs of doing so. Yet, if they were looking for somewhere to hibernate, the impervious mass of stone seemed an unlikely option. Perhaps they were drawn to the giant owl because the stone was radiating heat, warmed by the bright Autumn sun.
I found out later that ladybirds leave pheromone trails that attract other ladybirds. It seems likely that this, coupled with the warmth radiating from the sculpture, had turned it into a giant beacon for the insects.
Jubilee Woods isn't an ancient woods. It's not even an old woods.
It was planted a little over 20 years ago
The sculpture was erected in 2003 and depicts a barn owl. The barn owl was chosen by local school children as a symbol to represent the identity of the area, which was frequented by barn owls - a fact that turns out to be both ironic and a little sad.
It was part of the Mersey Forest project to create more woodlands across the region. Around the same time that the barn owl sculpture was placed there, around 2,000 trees - a mix of Scots Pine, Corsican Pine, Hybrid Larch, Ash, Rowan, Willow, Birch, Hawthorn, Guelder Rose and Dog Rose - were planted by local children.
Prior to that, the area was wide open fields - ideal barn owl habitat. Barn owls were common here, hence the decision to use the barn owl as inspiration for the sculpture.
But barn owls are creatures of rough grasslands and farmland, not woodland. They nest in old farm buildings, not trees. As the trees have grown and matured, the barn owls have been displaced. Now all that is left of their memory here is this giant owl statue.
It is almost as if the owl is gazing wistfully through and beyond the dense trees, towards the distant open fields, and mourning their loss.
One final mystery. This area - Sefton - was once part of the county of Lancashire. On 1st April 1974 it became part of the county of Merseyside, and has been ever since.
The sculpture was commissioned and installed almost 30 years later, yet the carved inscription at the base of the owl sculpture says, "Lancashire County Council."
If anyone can explain that, I'd love to hear from you...
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