A Field near Hertford

On a trip to Reading, near Hertford, we passed a field on the left-hand side, a pretty scene – a small field, surrounded by trees, winter brownish-green grass, and passing through the centre: a stream formed from snow melt and rainfall, wide at the road edge, barely tapering toward the middle and suddenly disappearing – not forming a pond, not narrowing further, just disappearing as if into a black hole. Settled on the edge of this new stream two Canada geese, resting, one head down, the other head held high on long stretched neck, peering curiously around. Beak turned first one way, and then the other.

Dwindling Bird Populations

Over the past forty years, bird populations have plummeted: kestrels and reed bunting by a third; skylarks, goldfinches, yellowhammers and linnets by more than half; yellow wagtails and starlings by nearly three-quarters; and worst of all, turtle doves, tree sparrows, corn buntings and grey partridges have crashed by around 90%.

Crickets

I was heartened to read that while wet weather is not good for crickets, this is offset to some extent by many cricket species having eggs that take two to three years to hatch – effectively sitting out the bad weather years. Apparently, house crickets, which were once only found indoors, are now increasingly found outside in large colonies on landfill sites where they are protected from the cold by the heat from the decaying waste. Worldwide there are 900 species of cricket, but we only have 29 here in England and Wales. Crickets are omnivores feeding on decaying plant material, fungi, seedling plants, and their own dead. Their eggs hatch in spring and one fertile female can produce two thousand offspring.

Squirrel Pair

We again have two squirrels; they are tiny thin timid beasts. I watched them one frosty morning huddled together in the south-facing fork of the pseudo-acacia tree, obviously enjoying the warmth of the sun. It was a frosty morning and the sunshine must have been very welcome.

They have built a dray, high up in the birch tree. So far, most of their day is spent in the malus tree eating the crabapples. The pigeons also feast on these and they are fast depleting, soon there will be none left. No doubt the squirrels will then find our bird table. How long before they become as tame as the others is anyone’s guess.

I threw two plums on the lawn. One of the squirrels found them, and squatting on his haunches, sat until he had eaten one. After washing his hands and face – a delicate procedure and a joy to watch – he picked up the remaining plum in his mouth, carried it to the birch tree, where he climbed high, before traversing almost the length of the branch, and pushing it into a fork, he went off about his business. Often over the next several days, I saw him go and check the plum, without even attempting to eat it. However, one afternoon, I watched as one of the two squirrels, as yet I cannot tell them apart, climbed to the plum, disengaged it from its nook, and carrying it lower down the branch, he sat beside the trunk and ate it.

Friend of the Fox

Yesterday we drove down a very beautiful stretch of road. It is very picturesque and passes through woodland. The trees meet overhead and no matter what time of year, we always enjoy the journey.

Last night, we passed along its length twice: the first time as always taking our time and enjoying its beauty, even in the dark we still find it an attractive road. The second, our return journey last night, was utterly spoiled for us. As we drove gently along, the headlamps picked out a beautiful fox in the road, we slowed even more and delightedly watched it. Unusually the fox didn’t move and so we slowed to almost a standstill. Edging forward, we noticed the reason for the fox’s reticence to leave the road; he was standing by the mangled body of another fox. As we drew level, he stepped off the road and on to the verge and as we slowly passed by he returned to stand by the body of his friend.

Who dares to say animals don’t have feelings? I was incensed recently when I met someone who spoke of foxes in such a derogatory manner and termed them vermin. He keeps chickens for his table, but was upset because a fox had discovered his run and helped himself.

He was not bothered about the chicken either. To him, it was just a meal.

Perhaps the lesson he should learn is to keep his foul more secure.

“Only decent fox is a dead one”, he told me.

Well he might respect them more if he put food out for them at night and watched them. They are quite delightful creatures and we ought to remember like us they get hungry and need to eat – but don’t have a butchers to go to!

Long Tailed Tits and Fungus

The previously mentioned insect box hung in the lower boughs of a malus, is easily seen from the dining room, and has become another area to keep an eye on. It is clear the insect box is a success because it is frequented by great tits, who use it as a feeding station. I am now tempted to hang a bird feeder close by, to see which other birds are drawn to that area by the promise of food.

We are being entertained by flocks of long tailed tits, prettying the garden with their swooping flight as they visit our trees and bushes. Their favourite place in the garden is an old upturned dustbin lid balanced on an old chimney, we keep it filled with water and it has become their daily bathing place.

Fungi this year are wonderful, such a quantity and variety. I have so enjoyed seeking it out to photograph. I enjoy looking at fungi and wish I was more knowledgeable, perhaps this winter, I will try to learn more about it.

Black Sky, White Birds

For days we have had rain. All morning it was wet though just before we left it dried up, but was very windy. Now on the journey to the hospital, to hear the scan results, there is bright sunshine, although the roads are still very wet.

Deciduous trees are almost bare and all rivers are full to overflowing. I can see the sky reflected on the flooded areas of flat fields and road edges.

We drive quietly. We are both sober. The uncertainty of the last three months has been bad enough, but the strain of the last three days has been almost unbearable.

Pylons march across fields reminding me of the Eiffel Tower, they stand sentinel at the roadside between the turning for Westmill and the village of Buckland.

Here and there is evidence of the high winds in the trees, having blown down on the verges and roadsides. In a field on the right-hand side is a dwelling – once a windmill. I wonder what it is like inside. Does it have curved walls? Steep chalk sides bound the road on either side now – very ivy-covered in places.

Cambridge is 13 miles away. 12 miles away. 11. Put Coldplay on the stereo.

The sky is very black and angry, and silhouetted against it is a rising and falling flock of white birds. Perhaps they are not white – it may be a trick of the reflected light against the clouds’ blackness. How can the sky be so black and yet the sun be shining so brightly? It feels like a reflection of my fear and hope.

Black sky, wet roads and cars with their headlamps on.

In Trumpington now and passing the turning for Grantchester – these so familiar names from researching the Howe family history, so many of Mike’s forbears came from this area.

A thick rainbow rises from a belt of green trees ahead.

Turning off now for the hospital at the end of this road. The windscreen is splattered, as if the drops are my tears being held back, but only just, because my fear is great and my sorrow at what might be is even greater.

The Heron

Today, just as Mike walked into the kitchen, I looked out of the lounge window and watched a heron take off. It was flying low across the lawn and upward through the branches of our garden’s trees. I have very mixed feelings regarding the heron, because he empties our pond, but I love to watch him. It takes away my breath when I watch him in flight. He did not fly very far – just across the paddock and into the field, where he spent the next two hours silently stalking the river’s edge.

Later on, I watched a goldcrest, such a tiny restless little bird. He spent ten minutes between a conifer and a bird bath never staying long on either, but impatiently flying between the two.

Monday feels very near now. I cannot believe that for the last few months I have been so anxious for this day to arrive, and now that it is here I am filled with dread. Will I have the strength and fortitude to bear what I must if the news is bad? How foolish and selfish to even wonder such a thing when I have already lived 67 years, and so very many people have not even had this much.

Home Creatures

Tired but happy, a most enjoyable day yesterday.

The squirrels, pheasants and birds have missed their handouts, and seemed extra hungry today.

We were pleased to oblige, we missed the contact with them yesterday.