At this time of year the farm is a popular spot, with people strolling, horse riding or picnicking from dawn till dusk. One of the unexpected joys of opening up public access is the extra pairs of eyes. A broken fence or fallen tree is noticed almost immediately; an otter is spotted slipping into a stream at first light. Recently, Laura, a regular dog walker and keen photographer, shared something new.
Congregating on the sunny side of an old lime tree is a colony of firebugs. There are 50 or so, clustered together, like flames flickering up the trunk. Each is nearly a centimetre long, with ember-bright red backs marked by bold, symmetrical black shapes. These aggregations, typically on lime or mallow, are for mating and feeding. A firebug eats seeds, aphids or even its dead relatives, sucking out moisture with its proboscis.
At first glance, they could be mistaken for the unrelated cinnamon bug. Although their patterns are similar, the firebugs are block printed with geometric precision, whereas the cinnamon bug’s markings look like the work of soft, painterly brushstrokes.
Firebugs were once very rare in the UK, with just one population in Devon. Now though, chasing the spreading warmth, they can be found in most of southern England, their range pushing ever northwards, like a slow-burning blaze. Despite their dramatic looks, they are harmless to people, trees and gardens. Birds and amphibians sometimes ignore their stark attempt at warning and eat them anyway.
A few pairs of firebugs are connected, end to end, as if glued together. Their mating can go on for hours. Unlike many prolific insects, they produce just one new generation a year, and the nymphs often remain gathered at the hatching site as they mature.
The warmth of the sun draws them upwards, while the shade sends them down to the leaf litter below. The busy spring afternoon continues, with swallow acrobatics in full force over the meadows. The swifts have not arrived yet, but they will any second now, and I probably won’t be the first to notice.
