I'm not dead...

Honest.

Red Kite - common and easy to see here, unlike in Devon. My duaghters can now confidently identify them and pick out the Black Kites when they come by.

Myosotis rehsteineri. A Lake Constance endemic now, apparently extinct at all its former locations in the Alps....

...determinedly a non-competitor, this is a plant of the strandline, flowering twice a year when the water levels permit...

...this is the biggest patch of it that I've yet seen. A low-growing, yet startlingly blue and showy plant...

...and although not good at holding out in the face of competing plants, it has a tough little niche to survive in. More on this plant - and others - later.

Sympecma paedisca - Siberian Winter Damsel. The more eastern of the winter damselflies in Europe and so far the only individual of the species that I've seen.

A spectacular non-native: Giant Knotweed, Fallopia sachalinensis.

Crocus meadow in the Brandnertal, Austrian Alps

Full of Crocus vernus ssp albiflorus and Soldanella alpina. Carex caryophyllea and an Alchemilla in there too for the connoisseurs

Yet another crocus meadow. Bit boring really (not!)

February sings of spring. Or signs?

February already. Where is the year going? The days are lengthening rapidly and the snow has now melted; just a few dirt-encrusted patches of white here and there in the most shady nooks bears testament to the blanket that covered us in January. When the weather is clear and the mountains are visible, it is possible to chart the gradual upward climb of the snowline, but days with clear skies are rather sparse at the moment: either it is grey and mild, or sunny and hazy. Or it rains.

The most obvious response to the change in temperature and day-length is, of course, from the birds. Suddenly there is song all around - the two-tone repetitive 'tee-tah' of Great Tits the most striking to start with. They were quickly joined by drumming Great Spotted Woodpeckers and the slightly manic laughter of Green Woodpeckers. Listen with more than half an ear and you will hear the similar, yet somewhat more mournful song of Grey-headed Woodpeckers, which seem to be widespread in the local area. Over the last week a Black Woodpecker has added a wild, ringing 'klooouuu' to the mix too.

A swelling chorus of Chaffinches is emerging - for now most of the males rather hesitantly launching their songs, so that they fade out into a jumble of notes soon after starting, but it won't be long before they ring loud in the woods and gardens. Mistle Thrushes and Blackbirds have also begun to polish up their notes for the coming spring. All in all, it won't be long before a proper dawn chorus is waking us each day and the first trans-Saharan migrants will start filtering through on their way north. A smart male Black Redstart feeding at the foot of the Schloss Montfort last week could well have been a bird moving back north from the Mediterranean, as could the little flock of Serins feeding in the asparagus fields on the way down to the kindergarten on Friday.

The ground is still cold though, so the plants are not yet really starting to move: a few fresh-looking leaves of Lesser Celandine and some new shoots of Greater Pond Sedge all the evidence that I can find of new growth just yet. It won't be long, though, before we can start to fossick through the woods and meadows to see what there is to offer here. A promise of warmer weather next week suggests that the local beavers will be starting to get out and about again: perhaps a chance to use the camera trap again for something more exotic (to me) than foxes and Roe Deer!

Though there aren't many juicy plants to be seen at present, there is still colour and interest to be found in bryophytes and fungi in the woods.

A gratuitous patch of Radula complanata

A recent visit to an old stamping ground was productive. The Rheindelta on the southern shore of the Bodensee is a long pair of artificial banks which channel the river Rhine out into the lake for a couple of kilometres. The bay just to the west of the river is one of the larger areas of shallow water in the lake and thus proves attractive to waterfowl. A calm day was impetus enough to go back and explore for the first time in thirteen years (how did that happen?!) and show the children some ducks.

The Fussacher Bucht did not disappoint. The bay was three-quarters frozen, so birds were concentrated near the lagoons and, despite an appalling winter for wildfowl on the lake overall, there were still enough birds to impress two small children. The duck flock was two or three thousand strong, divided equally between Red-crested Pochard, Tufted Duck and Common Pochard, with a smattering of Goldeneye around the fringes. Sprinklings of Coot, Whooper and Mute Swans, Caspian Gulls and Goosander added a little variety to the mix, while a bevy of cold-looking Grey Herons and Great Egrets speckled the banks. A lone fox on the ice caused mild alarm among the ducks for a while, but stood no chance of snaring any but the most dim-witted of them and eventually trotted gently back towards the reed fringe of the Rohrspitz.

Mixed ducks (all the specks at the back) in the Fussacher Bucht - a small group of Red-crested Pochard lurk in the foreground

Scheidegg Geopark

Ingredient 1: Sunshine. Ingredient 2: happy children. Ingredient 3: Sunday morning - pancakes eaten and washing up done. The stage is clearly set for a bit of exploration of our new surroundings. Where better to begin than the Scheidegg waterfalls?
The road climbs up gradually from the lake, leaving the lowland fruit trees behind. As we pass into hillier country the road behind to curve and twist up into spruce forest, hairpin bends swirling us round the woods to gratified shouts of 'Whooooaaa-aaah!' and 'Again-again!' from the back seats.

The main visitor 'centre' of the disparate waterfalls is easily found, though a bit of adjustment is necessary as we are not allowed to turn right into the site from the main road. The first thing we then see is the rather incongruous sight of a Grey Heron sat at the top of an apple tree. Always something new to see in this world.

Waterfall 1

The inevitable playground is greeted with delight by the girls, who rush to get onto things which whirl them round and make them as dizzy as possible. They reluctantly disengage to visit the waterfalls. The falls are good. The small river is channelled through the edge of the playground and then drops off a conglomerate ledge to a new bed some 20 metres below. We watch from a steel platform jutting over the basin; not a spot for those who suffer from vertigo!

We backtrack from the platform and head along the trail to the lower falls. The path winds up to a small clearing crammed with sedges and the remains of summer seedheads, stays on the level for a brief moment, then plunges down the side of the gorge to reach two further viewpoints.

The first is from the base of the first falls, where the size of the basin carved from the underlying rock can be appreciated - a great round sweep testifying to the size of the falls after the snowmelt.

The second, deeper still in the gorge, looks onto the lower falls, somewhat smaller, but without the intrusion of metal platforms and playground above, so with a more unspoilt feel. The remains of past viewing platforms rot forlornly by the modern metal grille.

Waterfall 2

More time at the playground is needed after the effort of all those steps. The site is scattered with equipment related to water: a hydraulic ram, an Archimedean screw, a modern water turbine and one of the first electric turbines ever built in Bavaria. Though it's all powered down for the winter, there is enough rainwater in the screw to let it function for a while; again much to the delight of the children.

The final falls are upstream, a short walk along the valley. The stream cascades gently through the conifers, stepping down over blocks and layers of conglomerate. This final waterfall is quite low, but the party runs round the inside of the basin, behind the falls: loud and lively with low water, it must be quite an experience the spring.

The valley woodlands are a trans-boundary nature reserve, shared with Austria and left to grow and age without human interference. The cynic in me feels that it may simply be because the slopes are to steep to bother with for forestry, but maybe that's a churlish view. Besides, better to have some areas which don't require human 'management'.

Spindle berries brighten the woodland beautifully. Pfaffenhuettchen (little priests' hats would, I guess, be the literal translation). Whatever the word, they are gloriously colourful in an otherwise green-brown-grey season.

Brexit - means Brexit.

OK, so it's a predictable title; sorry.

Here we are. We've left the sunny shores of south-west England and washed up on the banks of Europe's third-largest lake: Constance (Bodensee, as I'll probably end up referring to it forever after). We're living in a small village just to the north of the lake, just east of half-way along. Seek out the local town of Langenargen on your trusty online mapping programme and you'll get the general gist.

Moving here has been something of a mammoth task: quitting jobs in the UK was relatively simple. Making the house ready for the next family was somewhat more Herculean, but achievable. Packing for the move seemed to take forever and - despite being fairly thrifty with our posessions, an alarming amount of stuff, clutter, call it what you will, was shipped off to charity shops, friends and family.

The journey over was the next challenge: Dover-Calais ferry, or the tunnel? Or Harwich to Hook of Holland? We plumped for the latter, particularly because the long journey meant a proper break and a chance to sleep, as well as saving us the tedium of the Oostend-Brussels-Aachen stretch of motorway - anyone who's driven that route ought to understand. So, a ridiculously early start from Exeter, a fairly stress-free journey to Harwich and we board the ferry - strange to be looking back at the coast and think that this is not actually a holiday. A millpond crossing, glassily smooth, meant that we could watch seals loafing in the North Sea for a good long while - individuals asleep in the water, bottling happily a good hour's journey out to sea: looks like the life. If reincarnation could happen...

A short hop down the motorway and we were able to break the journey for a couple of nights with my in-laws: again, a stretch of the legs for the adults and a bit of rest from the tedium of sitting in a car seat for hours on end for two small children. Finally, the last stretch - past Frankfurt, Stuttgart and Ulm with barely a hitch - only to be held up for 20 minutes with an inexplicable traffic jam about a kilometre from our exit from the final motorway. Cruel. We rolled in, finally, to the driveway of our new temporary home and shoehorned ourselves and the children out of the car with a communal sigh of relief. Even the car seemed grateful to stop moving (ruthless anthropomorphism I know; sorry).

Since then, we've been gradually extending our knowledge of the area, getting to grips with a somewhat cooler winter climate than we've been used to, and dealing with what feels like a small Alp of bureaucracy - though to be totally fair, the general helpfulness of the average civil servant here is incredible.Registering ourselves, the car, working, finding future work, getting children settled in kindergartens, looking for a more permanent flat, finding health insurance, doctors, the local shops; the list feels endless, but somehow we're whittling away at it.

The local area if dominated by fruit growing. Lots of apples, in particular. Much of it is very intensive, as you would expect in a western European country, buy the as also some pockets of older traditional orchards, with big old trees and much more evident wildlife. Our local patch has such goodies as Grey-headed Woodpeckers, Hawfinch and a plethora of Tree Sparrows. Not bad when you're from Devon. Much, much more on the local area, walks and wildlife later though!

Looking forward to seeing what the rest of the winter - and then the spring may bring us...

The Saentis (in Switzerland) looms closest over the lake directly to the south. The snow which fell (on my birthday! There's a first!) has retreated up-slope considerably, but the mountain still looks nicely picturesque.

Looking south-east from the lake-front at Langenargen, the mountains in Vorarlberg (in Austria) a somewhat more forbidding presence. There's good birding to be had there...