Something Fishy Is Going On

On the 4th of October 2024 we posted about having written 6000 blog posts which had been viewed 4,408,662 times.

Things have changed since then: our all time visits now stand at 11,288,340, with 26,799 visits yesterday, and 482,374 visits last month.

I was interested enough to ask ClaudeAI what the reason could be. I had my suspicions, and this was the answer:

This is a really interesting question, and I think I can offer a strong likely explanation — though there may be more than one factor at play.

**The most probable cause: AI bot crawling**

Your blog covers nature, wildlife, history, French life, and food — exactly the kind of rich, detailed, original content that AI companies are aggressively harvesting to train their large language models. Automated traffic surpassed human-generated activity for the first time in a decade, accounting for 51% of all web traffic in 2024. Since then it's grown further.

Research from 2024 found that a record 16% of "general invalid traffic" from known bots was generated by AI scrapers such as GPTBot, ClaudeBot, and AppleBot. These bots hit every page they can find, and Blogger/Blogspot doesn't filter them out of your view counts the way more sophisticated platforms do. Your 6,000+ posts across many years give bots an enormous amount of pages to crawl.

Crawling traffic spiked twice — first in November 2024, then again between March and April 2025 — which aligns suspiciously well with your traffic jump from October 2024 onwards.

**Other contributing factors worth considering:**

- **Compound SEO effect.** 

With 6,000+ posts built up over years, older posts continue to accumulate search ranking authority over time. A blog that old and that prolific keeps climbing organically in search results for niche queries about French nature, Loire Valley history, orchids, dragonflies, etc.

- **AI-generated search results driving curiosity.**When AI tools like ChatGPT or Perplexity cite or reference content about French natural history or life in the Loire Valley, some users do click through — even if the click-through rate is low.

- **Growing anglophone interest in rural France.**There's been sustained growth in people researching relocating to or visiting rural France, which is squarely your content.

The short version: you've built a genuinely valuable archive of content at exactly the moment AI companies started hoovering up the internet, and your view counter is almost certainly catching a lot of that automated activity.

I was right in my suspicions, but this is slightly worrying. The half life of facts would suggest that much of the stuff on the blog no longer applies. Add in the whimsy, local misdirections and suppositions and I wonder how relevant a lot of the information is now. We don't set out to deceive, but anyone looking for definitive, up to date information is likely to be directed by AI to restaurants that no longer exist (I've checked), boulangeries that closed 10 years ago (checked that too), and expect the sewing machine man to be at the market (not for many years). Or indeed other towns that have "Preuilly" in their names.

This is just one reason we would never use AI to write a blog post - once you have fact checked everything it turns out easier to do it ourselves -  although I have in the past used AI to restructure and check grammar and spelling (UK English).

Should I ask Claude how many times he has crawled the blog?

The Church in Saint Flovier

The 19th century church in the village of Saint Flovier, 15 minutes down the road from us.

Until last week I had never set foot inside the church in Saint Flovier. It is 19th century and I assumed that the interior would be faux medieval wall paintings and saccharine 19th century Madonnas. Well I was right. But the church also has a couple of decent 17-18th century paintings, and some chunky 15th century choir stalls with a range of misericords. There is another, 20th century treasure contained in this church, but I'll write about it another time.

Finial on one of the 15th century choir stalls.

The church was constructed in the 1880s in the Romanesque style. It replaced a 12th century church which was in a poor state of repair and too small. The architect was well known for his historic restorations and came from Paris. Inside notable artists of the day from Tours, Orleans and Paris created the decoration, including stained glass from the workshop of Luc Fournier in Tours. The paintings from the old church were transferred to the new one.

Finial on one of the 15th century choir stalls.

The 15th century oak choir stalls had come from the old abbey church in Beaulieu les Loches which had been destroyed in the Revolution. As was the norm for the time they feature misericords, or a sort of hinged ledge which functioned as a seat but allowed the monks to appear to be standing whilst they suffered through long services, or 'offices'. The misericords are carved with a variety of quirky subjects, mixing the sacred and the profane, clowns and devils, and illustrations of proverbs. Images such as 'green men' swallowing or spitting leaves symbolise the renewal of Nature. Debauchery is depicted by a pig's head or performing clowns.

The end of one of the 15th century choir stalls.

There is also a set of much more staid 17th century oak choir stalls. They were made during the reign of Louis XIII and feature acanthus leaves, angel's heads, pomegranates, swans and fish, in the style of their time.

A misericord depicting fish on a 17th century choir stall.

A misericord depicting pomegranates on a 17th century choir stall.

Misericord on a 15th century choir stall, depicting a jester with a rattle.

A misericord on one of the 15th century choir stalls, depicting a man in bed I think, although he's got his eyes open and wearing a tunic or doublet.

A 15th century misericord, depicting a man with a fashionable forked beard.

A 15th misericord depicting a boar's head.

A 15th century misericord depicting an acrobat exposing his backside. Images such as this are surprisingly common in medieval churches.

Lily of the Valley for 1 May

On 1 May in much of Europe it is traditional to give a sprig of Lily of the Valley Convallaria majalis (muguet in French) to friends and family for good luck throughout the year. How the plants in the forest survive the annual onslaught of widely advertised outings to pick the flowers in the wild I do not know. 

 

The bunch above is held by Nadine, who we encountered in the forest some days before, with her husband and grandson. They were spending quality family time picking wild Lily of the Valley. We greeted each other warmly and Nadine invited me to smell the flowers. They were divine!

Just then an oil beetle trundled across the path in front of us. I took the opportunity to talk about what amazing and weird (in a good way) creatures they are, for the benefit of the young boy. I was very pleased to observe that he didn't immediately attempt to stamp on it, but just watched it quietly. His grandparents made all the right 'how interesting!' noises. 

 

Male Violet Oil Beetle Meloe violaceus in the Forest of Preuilly late April. 

Not far from our little group was a young woman gathering ramsons (a type of wild garlic). She told me she planned to pickle the buds (so they are like capers) and make pesto from the leaves. We are very lucky to have good quality forest nearby for walking, foraging and socialising. The forest was a gift to the community from the previous private owner in the 20th century.

Charnizay's Mass Dials

Looking at the Charnizay canonical sundials 

(which no longer function because they predate the big 15th century buttresses).

Sundials on the church at Charnizay.

On the south facing exterior wall of the church in Charnizay are the remnants of four canonical sundials (only one of them still clear). In English they are also known as mass dials or scratch dials, in French they are called cadrans canonials. The purpose of these is not for the general public to tell the time per se, but for the priest to know when to perform the daily cycle of services. They date from the Middle Ages, maybe the 12th century. They are semi-circles, divided into six, eight or twelve sectors and vary according to the season. When they were etched into the wall the church only had small buttresses, but nowadays the sundials are in the shade of more massive buttresses added in the 15th century.

 

The use of mass dials began in the 7th century and continued until the 14th century. The lines don't correspond to the hours of the day as we know them, but to liturgical times, seasonally and geographically adjusted. They are usually a semi-circle, with a hole for a wooden stick where the  radiating hour lines intersect. The sticks are always long gone, but their function was to cast a shadow so you knew what the canonical time was. Many mass dial enthusiasts recount finding a small stick and putting it in the hole, almost like a reflex action.

In the 6th and 7th centuries every congregation had their own rites and the number of divisions on the first canonical dials varied. Around the 8th century the Rule of Saint Benedict established a standard set of seven ceremonies or 'hours'. They were Matins/Lauds (midnight/before dawn), Prime (sunrise), Terce, Sext (noon), None, Vespers (sunset), and Compline (end of the day). These canonical hours do not have a temporal hour number associated with them, as they vary according to the seasons.

The canonical dials are positioned at head height, usually near the entrance. On grander churches they may be carved with care, but more often, and on little rural churches, they are crude and difficult to distinguish from graffiti. 

It was towards the end of the 7th century, under the influence of the Venerable Bede in England, that canonical dials became widespread. Monks from England, Scotland and Ireland disseminated the practice throughout Europe.

Canonical dials continued to be used right into the 16th century, but by the 14th century the bigger churches and cathedrals started using clocks and the mass dials were slowly abandoned except in small rural churches.

There are around 1500 canonical dials still visible in France, mainly in Normandy, the Touraine and Charente, and in monasteries associated with the Camino de Santiago (Fr. chemin de Compostelle).

A Walk on the Eperon Barre de Murat

The Eperon Barré de Murat is a ridge of limestone (Fr. tuffeau jaune) topped by a plateau at about 120 metres above sea level. This site, frequented by Mankind since the Neolithic was formed by the confluence of the valleys of the Brignon and the Larçon. It is a well known site for wild orchids and the habitat they require is maintained by a flying flock (Fr. troupeau itinerant) of grazing sheep.  The calcareous grasslands shelter a number of insects, such as cicadas (Fr. cigales) and the Large Blue butterfly (Fr. papillon Azuré du serpolet) which require dry sunny places.

 

Tassel Hyacinth Muscari comosum (Fr. Muscari  à toupet).

Two ancient defensive walls, called a vallum, are still visible at the narrow end of the site. They served to protect and 'bar' access to a prehistoric settlement. 

 

There were lots of caterpillars of the localised and increasingly rare Small Eggar moth Eriogaster lanestris (in French the caterpillars are called la Laineuse du cerisier).

The site is managed by the Conservatoire d'Espaces Naturels Centre Val de Loire.

 

 Small Heath butterfly Coenonympha pamphilus (Fr. Procris).

Earlier this month Simon and I did the 3.5 km circuit around the site so I could check the progress of the orchid flowering season. It was a hot sunny day in the mid-twenties temperature wise, and about half the walk is not shaded. Just to warn you -- this is a hot site much of the year, so take water to drink. We took about an hour to get around and saw 5 species of orchid in flower. Unbeknownst to me, my friend François, who is an ecologist for the Conservatoire, was also there that day. He bagged an extra species of orchid, damn him...

 

 Downy Oak Quercus pubescens (Fr. Chêne pubescent).

Lady Orchid Orchis purpurea (Fr. Orchis pourpre).

View looking north-east from the vallum.

Violet Fritillary Boloria dia (Fr. Petite violette).

Narrow-leaved Helleborine Cephalanthera longifolia (Fr. Céphalanthère à feuilles étroites).

The uncommon Green-underside Blue butterfly Glaucopsyche alexis (Fr. Azuré des cytises).

A number of Early Spider Orchids Ophrys sphegodes (Fr. Ophrys araignée) lurking about in the grass.

 

 

Further Reading: https://espacesnaturels.touraine.fr/eperon-de-murat.html (page for the nature reserve, in French).

What to do About a Swarm of Honey Bees

The answer is short and simple: contact a beekeeper immediately and they will come and collect the swarm. A beekeeper in France is an apiculteur. You can find contact details for dozens in your area by doing a simple internet search. 

The sooner they are collected the better, for their own well-being, and for yours. If they are collected promptly it protects them from being caught out in bad weather (cold and/or wet), which is not uncommon in spring. It also gives them less time to become settled in an inappropriate new home, like your chimney or behind your shutters.

Swarming bees can sound and look alarming, but they are not really a threat to you. They are concentrating on protecting their queen, and finding a new home. Leave them alone and you will find that they will just peacefully attach themselves to a branch and hang there for some hours in a clump huddled around the queen to keep her warm. Scouts will come and go on their mission to find a new home and report back, but they can be safely ignored by you. Don't delay in calling a beekeeper to relocate the swarm though.

 

The second of two honey bee swarms I saw on 17 April this year. This one was on the Eperon Barré de Murat Nature Reserve where we walked that afternoon. The first was in our neighbour's garden, while we were having lunch in ours.

Honey bee colonies in the Touraine Loire Valley tend to be splitting up and on the move ie swarming from April to June. On Friday, coming back from the dentist, I drove into a swarm on the move between Ferrière Larçon and La Celle Guenand. A few unfortunately splatted on the windscreen. Somewhat disconcerting.