The Barn Owl

It was dark when I realized the washing was still on the line. I put on my coat and went outside. The sun was setting, pink drifts crossed the sky and on the horizon there was a fierce orange-red glow. I stood watching. It was cold and growing darker by the minute, but the sunset held me there. It was so quiet and I felt peaceful and at one with the world. Suddenly, out of the utter stillness of the night came a shriek. Although I had never heard the sound before I knew from reading what it was – a barn owl. I looked out across the fields, but could see nothing.

There are no barn owls in the area. How could I have heard one? Fifteen to twenty years ago two were released locally, but after a few days, were never seen again. I hastened indoors to tell Mike.

The next afternoon about 4:30pm we were down by the river admiring the rafts of golden yellow and orange leaves drifting by when we were delighted to see a kingfisher not once or twice, but five times, and the last time not one but two kingfishers. We were thrilled.

We turned our attention to a nearby stretch of grass and watched two bats hawking. After ten minutes we decided to go home, but as we turned our eyes swept the field to our left where we were amazed to see, like a ghostly apparition, a barn owl quartering it. Spellbound, we watched him flying low, skimming the long grass, back and forth, from side to side. Once he landed briefly in a tree only to soon return and continue his hunting. We looked at each other, huge grins spread across our faces – so we do have at least one barn owl in the area. It was a rare and magical find for both of us.

The river has yielded our best times this autumn: hazelnuts to eat, sloes to make sloe gin, conkers to gather and admire, berries and autumn leaves to draw, so many creatures to enjoy, and a chance riverboat trip complete with a glass of wine thanks to a friendly stranger. Long live the river!

Of Weasels and Amphibians

The weasel is back. We had a happy half hour watching him running and cavorting around the lawn. We know he will decimate the mole, vole and shrew population, but as always, they will rebuild again. During the last week our fish population was halved in number. We know it was not the heron this time because no oily film was left on the water. So we conclude it was the weasel. We have often watched him in the past “playing” around the pond, but have never seen evidence of him catching fish either for play or feeding.

Talking of the pond, for the last twenty years, we have tried to introduce amphibians into the garden, always unsuccessfully despite countless buckets of frog and toad spawn being emptied into the pond. However, five weeks ago, I chanced to see a newt in the pond, which was very exciting. I rushed off to ring my grandson with the news. I haven’t seen the newt since, but it is enough to know he is there.

Last week we were clearing the garage and were surprised to find a medium-sized toad crawling about. He clearly dines on the myriad flies, spiders and snails who share his abode. Two days later, my grandson who is staying with us reporting seeing an enormous toad on the patio. No frogs yet, but maybe soon.

Ladybirds

Ladybirds are probably the only beetle most people will happily handle. Worldwide there are 3000 species, but only 44 recorded in Britain. This weekend I have been delighted to see swarms of ladybirds in the garden. The walls of the bungalow were decorated with hundreds of these tiny beetles, which I have been recording. So far I have found 22 varieties. Since there is such diversity I suspect they interbreed very successfully. When attacked they exude a foul tasting fluid, which puts birds off.

Many years ago they were used as folk remedies for colic, toothache and measles. Also there is that well-known ladybird nursery rhyme.

They are a valuable asset to our gardens due to their voracious appetite for many garden pests: aphids, scale insects, mealy bugs, mites and thunder-bugs. They have also been known to feed on each other.

I fear many ladybirds are killed at their larval stage simply because people don’t recognise them, which is a great pity.

The variety in these little creatures is astounding, ranging from no spots to more than twenty, although black on red is the most common, there are also: black on yellow, black on orange, black on brown, even two-tone brown, red on black, and would you believe even black with red spots with a black spot on each of the red spots.

Now I am hopeful that as the weather cools I shall find a large cluster of these delightful beetles sheltering somewhere in the garden, probably in the woodpile, and I will look forward to the good work they will do for me next spring and summer.

Crows

During a telephone conversation with my son who lives in Seattle, I was intrigued by his telling of a radio programme about crows, and also an amazing sight his friend Rich witnessed showing the caring nature of squirrels.

First to the squirrels: Rich was walking along the road when he saw two crows fly down into the middle of the road. They were cawing and bobbing up and down. As Rich drew closer he noticed an injured small squirrel lying between them. It was a young squirrel, probably hit by a car. It was still alive, but unable to run away. The crows pecked at the squirrel as if testing whether it had yet expired. As Rich drew level with the scene, an adult squirrel shot out of the undergrowth, across the pavement and out to the middle of the road. It picked up the injured squirrel in its mouth, dashed back carrying it across the road, climbed up a tree with the injured squirrel still in its mouth until the two disappeared into the leaves. Whether or not the injured squirrel lived, we will never know, but to witness such an act is a precious thing. My belief is that the injured squirrel was a youngster and the rescuing squirrel its brave and strong parent rescuing it from an awful fate with the hungry crows. My son, however, says if hungry enough, squirrels will eat their own, but I prefer my compassionate explanation.

The radio programme about crows told how it had been discovered that crows are much more intelligent than previously thought, able to recognize human faces and tell them apart. Apparently crows have good memories and remember those who harass or upset them. When they see such a person they will set up an insistent cawing to warn others. (The researchers donned Dick Cheney masks before disturbing the crows – quite an appropriate mask I thought.)

Spider versus Wasp

Most of my nature observation occurs through a kitchen window while I inhale nebulized antibiotics each morning. This morning I watched an interesting interplay between an arachnid and an insect. The spider was smallish, mid-brown with a big abdomen. The insect was a parasitic ichneumon wasp, with its ovipositor it was larger than the spider. The wasp was first caught in a web at the top left hand corner of the window. The spider hurried across to her web and attempted to contain the struggling wasp, not entirely successfully. They dropped together to the bottom window ledge, where a brief struggle ensued and the spider took control – so much so he was able, even with the wasp’s wings moving in a blur, climb up the window, with his unwilling victim, back to his web. At this point, the wasp managed a short flight with the spider actually still attached to it, but it was unable to sustain it and the spider duly dragged the wasp back to its web. Once back at the top of the window the wasp made a valiant attempt to escape, and this time, even though locked in the spider’s embrace, took off , with the spider, and flew away across the lawn. What happened next? We shall never know.

Thirsty Worms

Our lawns are sprinkled with daisies, some all white, others prettily pink-edged, and dandelions. Until a few years ago, I used to spend much time digging dandelions out of the lawn to leave it pristine and weed-free as Mike likes it. Now, however, we welcome daisies – they remind us of starlit skies, and we especially like dandelions as a small group of bullfinches spend much time on the lawn eating the seeds from dandelion clocks. They are such a neat bird, a pleasing shape and such well-defined edges to their various colours of their coats. The pretty red-faced goldfinch is also drawn to the garden for the dandelion seedheads and seeds from the lemon balm plant.

Yesterday I saw our first newly fledged robin, very fetchingly speckled. The family in the carrier bag of plants are not fledged yet, but with both parents feeding all day long, they should be very strong when they are ready to face the big world.
We watched a visiting cat stalk, catch and dispatch a short-tailed field vole a few days ago. These are charming creatures and a good addition to the garden as they bring the owls; the weasels and the foxes have also been spied hunting and catching them.

I am constantly fishing worms out of the pond. How do they get in there and why? I never see them “running” across the lawn at breakneck speed to go for a swim, and if it is just a drink they need they could get that from the birdbath.

Baby Birds

The baby birds are starting to show themselves. The first on the scene were the dunnocks: tiny dark dashes on their heads and bodies, running from front to back. Next were the young blackbirds, newly feathered covered and fluffed out. They are bigger in appearance than their sleek parents, although the adult female is still plucked bare on the back of her head and neck by the efforts of the male to further his genes. I was delighted to see the first young starling. These birds have been rare and infrequent visitors to our garden the last few years. The youngster is sometimes mistaken for a young blackbird due to his mid-brown colour; he has none of the white spots or colourful iridescence of his parents, however. His squawk alone sets him apart from the blackbirds. His bill is different and his gape is also wider and more persistent. I threw out some suet, dried fruit, seed and wet bread. When he was a nestling his mother often chose suet or dried fruit, today she packed her beak with enormous quantities of wet bread and stuffed it down his open beak. After two such helpings, he stood very erect and looked uncomfortable. He watched and waited as she packed her beak again. Although he was opening and closing his beak he was unable to make a sound, so she flew back to the nest to feed his siblings while stayed very upright awaiting her return – an easy prey for the kestrel or the sparrowhawk, but fortunately for him, not today.

Friendly Robin

The last few years, my precious garden has become very overgrown, but now I have a new lease of life due to a change of medication – I can breathe so much more easily.

Mike has kept the lawns cut, but the rest has grown rampantly. This was not as bad as it might have been, because we have made our garden into a wildlife sanctuary, however, now I have more strength and energy, I am once again able to enjoy working on it.

Weeding a section of garden yesterday, I was joined by a friendly robin collecting grubs, worms and insects for the nestlings. This same robin waits on the kitchen window sill at odd times throughout the day until I provide some food. The robin made us laugh yesterday because it was apparent that although he watches me through the window, he did not equate the person he sees inside with the person who was doing the weeding, because while I was outside he kept flying to the window and looking intently inside.

There are many robins in the garden, but the reason this one is special is because he has built his nest and is rearing his young in a carrier bag with three plants in it outside the conservatory door. Our constant coming and going near the bag has made no difference to him – we might just as well be invisible as we stand in the open doorway and he flies in and out of the bag. I was worried for his family a week or so back when the heavy rain started, but need not have feared, because he had pulled one side of the bag down and inward to protect his nest.

The feud I observed last month between the mistle thrush and a magpie was won by the magpie, and the mistle thrushes are now building a new nest in the nearby conifers.

Muntjac Deer

Occasionally we have seen a muntjac deer in the garden, however for the last two weeks we have been privileged to have been visited by a pair.

They are timid, sensitive creatures. The female is lighter in colour than the male. Their ears are surprisingly large and are white-rimmed when seen from the back, although on this female they are white-rimmed from the front also. On the sides of the female there are lighter areas appearing almost, but not quite, dappled.
The male is a richer, deeper brown, and between his ears, just by them, are his horns: tiny, short, fur-covered and unbranched.

It has been a pleasure to watch them contentedly graze on the lawn or browse on the plants or shrubs – yes, they do eat both new shoots and flowers, but the pleasure of having them in the garden more than outweighs this disadvantage.

On two separate days, the female has stayed all day resting under the plum tree and occasionally sauntering out to munch leaves before going back to nestle down and ruminate.

I had hoped to report the first sighting of the cuckoo, but so far no sight or sound. I was saddened to read the Maltese are now fond of hunting them to either kill or cage as pets, which has resulted in a steep decline in their numbers. Malta’s government has moved to stop the illegal hunting, but has not yet been successful.

I’m watching “No Tail” the pigeon with her purple neck fluorescing green in the sun as she sashays along the path – walking without a tail causes a more side to side movement. She is here directly I open the window to feed the birds each morning, leaping on other pigeons to drive them away, but ignoring other birds. Soon though No Tail herself will be chased away by another pigeon or a squirrel.

The mistle thrush have eggs in their nest and are daily being harried by a pair of magpies. They are big birds, larger than their smaller cousins the song thrush, but the magpie is a clever bird and may well succeed in emptying the nest.

The sparrowhawks have been busy. In the last week they have taken a song thrush, a female blackbird and a pigeon. It is very sad when this happens, but we have to remember their behavior is natural and self-preservational.

Our Duck Family

It is a bright but cold February morning, and our hearts are lifted to see the ducks back. They are rare winter visitors unless the river and marina freeze, but frequent and welcome the rest of the year. Yes, they do leave greasy, glistening piles of excrement where they traipse and the pond does become a muddy, foul smelling quagmire, but we really enjoy their company.

They are usually waiting for us when we rise, sitting on the garage roof. They fly down eagerly waiting for their breakfast: water softened bread, birdseed, peanuts, dried fruit, suet and a few kind words – they could probably do without the latter, but it keeps them attuned to the sound of my voice when we are out in the garden, and they have on occasion come and sought us out.

If I do not notice them fly down in the mornings, they do repeated short flights up to the kitchen window to catch my attention, and occasionally I will turn to see one perched, sitting or standing, on the kitchen window sill – no mean feat when you consider the width of their bodies and the narrowness of the sill.

Having feasted, they make their way down to the pond, where beaks down, tails up, they spend several minutes. This pair’s relationship is consummated in a few brief seconds, where I hold my breath as I wait for the female to resurface. We have actually seen ducks drowned during mating, but thankfully never here. Every year the female of this pair is chased and set upon by marauding males desperate to pass their genes down to the next generation. One year, so many flew in at once that despite the best efforts of her mate, the female was held under water for several minutes and despaired of her surviving the ordeal. I went outside to defend her and chased off the pack of males. Last year our resident female returned with her usual mate, but all spring and summer another male was loitering and mating at every opportunity much to the annoyance of her long term mate.

This year when the female arrived she was accompanied by not just her usual mate, but also last year’s loitering male, who is younger and more handsome, with no battle scars from years of defending his mate. Surprisingly, there is no animosity. Her old beau seems resigned to the situation and is just happy to be near her. He takes no notice while they mate and just drifts idly while the act takes place, after which she splashes, bathes and preens herself then the three of them climb out and sit together on the side.

This behaviour will continue for a few weeks, then when we see the female she will always be alone. Previously, her mate would spend many hours in the garden very day calling to her, hurrying back and forth, looking in the pond, checking under bushes and very rarely eating. She seems to have been the main focus of his life and without her he appears anxious and lost. How she avoids him so neatly I haven’t quite worked out, but he never finds her.

Eventually, we will look out and there she will be nonchalantly leading a line of small fluffy brown and yellow ducklings across the lawn, or maybe standing patiently under the kitchen window, ducklings grouped around her, waiting for food, and just occasionally the first sighting of her and her new family will be of all of them swimming in the pond. Yes, for us, this moment is the climax.

Floodwaters

I live on the outskirts of a flood plain, where my bungalow has stood for nearly 100 years. It has been my home since 3rd December, 1987. We have never worried about our house flooding, but have watched the water rise in the surrounding fields with quiet excitement, knowing that when the water was at its highest it would feel as if I lived near the sea.

It is fascinating to see how quickly the area is colonized by gulls, ducks and swans. Herons we are used to, they frequent the fields and river banks near our garden. The kingfisher flies through our garden no more or less than before, and since both he and the heron are fishers in our pond we see them more frequently than most.

For many of our years living here, an old man walked up and down the lane coinciding with the opening hours of a nearby pub. If we happened to be outside gardening we would pass the time of day with each other. He was retired and this was his pleasure and time of socializing each evening he told us his father before him had walked the lane, as he did, until the time of his death, and though they had seen the lane flood many times, it had never reached our bungalow. It was good to hear that.

Squirrels, Magpies and Pigeons

It is the beginning of the second week of January. Already Christmas is a fast-receding memory, as happens if you do not celebrate it in your own home. It is almost as if it did not happen. No decorations to take down, no leftovers in the fridge, and no tree in sight.

A squirrel is on the window sill. A magpie flies in and settles on the topmost branches of the apple tree. The squirrel bangs on the window. I wave to him and cross the kitchen to fetch a biscuit and a handful of peanuts. As I reach for the key to unlock the window he cannot contain his excitement, and rushes forward to claim his breakfast. He acts like this most mornings and runs too far so that he is sitting right behind where the window will swing open. I wait, so he does too. I wave the window past him to a nearby window, but still he sits there, little paws clasping each other at chest level. I try twice more and it makes no difference. With a sigh I gently move the window a fraction. For a brief second, he turns his head towards me before scrabbling madly and falling to the grass-covered path below. I toss the biscuit down to him. How much more satisfying, I think to myself, are the mornings when I can place the biscuit into his tiny paws and watch him sit there eating, and then afterwards lick clean every part of his paws, and follow it up by washing his face. This way it is so undignified – the biscuit has fallen on a paving stone and shattered into a dozen pieces. I throw another one, taking care this time to drop it on to the grass. He has not noticed because he is still running around cleaning up all the pieces of the first biscuit. Picking up a piece, he is off and running across the lawn, round the old apple tree.

The magpie is watching. He has not moved from his perch yet, only turned his head to follow the squirrel’s progress. As the squirrel reaches the bottom lawn, the magpie flies down and starts hopping after him keeping his distance. The squirrel is now under the magnolia. He has cleared the leaf litter to expose a patch of bare earth. He puts the biscuit piece down and carefully covers it with the leaf litter, putting it in place with his paws, adjusts it again and pats it, then with a satisfied bound has turned and is running back. He picks up another piece and runs to the middle of the lawn, where he holds the biscuit in his mouth while he digs a hole. As he buries it, I glance across at the magpie who is busy recovering the first hidden piece of biscuit from under the magnolia. This will continue until the squirrel has hidden all the pieces and the magpie has retrieved and devoured each one.

Another squirrel comes and picks up the whole biscuit and takes it back to the lawn where he starts feasting. Unfortunately for him, the first squirrel has seen and a merry chase follows.

The four pigeons have come for breakfast. I never wanted pigeons – only the small garden birds, but four years ago, I found one with a broken wing hiding in the bushes and fed him. He was unable to fly again for many months, then he learned to climb bushes and glide down from them, and after a while short hops and small flights, and now, even though his wings sticks out at right angles to his body and brushes the ground, he can fly as well as any other pigeon. During the months when he was grounded I was so worried the fox would get him that I put out double and triple portions of food so that the fox would not go hungry and look for more. To my joy the broken wing pigeon survived.

About a year after Broken Wing, another pigeon joined us. I was not pleased about this, but he looked in such a bad way – he had lost all his tail and such trouble walking – that I felt moved to allow him to stay. So these two enjoyed a free banquet every morning. In time it became clear that Broken Wing and No Tail did not like each other, although usually tolerant, sometimes one would chase the other away. Anyway, now Broken Wing is stronger and No Tail has started growing a tuft where her tail should be, they have both found mates, and the four of them feed happily together each morning, and spend many hours either in the magnolia or the birch tree. So I feel beholden to the first two pigeons, and accept their mates gracefully. After all, are not pigeons the gentle giants of the bird world?

Feeding the Birds on a Freezing Morning

It is a cold day today. The temperature not much above freezing, with ice patches on the lawn and hesitant snowflakes swept down on the chill wind.

I saw blue tits and great tits waiting when I came into the kitchen. I quickly opened the window and tossed out some peanuts and mixed seeds. I soaked two slices of bread in lukewarm water and breaking it into pieces, sent that out as well. Taking a handful of peanuts I ranged them along the outside window sill, where before I had even finished a cheeky blue tit had already taken one. Blackbirds and robins were alternately feeding and squabbling over the food, not with each, but with other birds of their own kind.

I was pleased to see a thrush snatching and gobbling food on the outskirts. Blackbirds really enjoy the fruit peelings put out each day, and I sometimes wonder if I boiled up the root vegetable peelings to soften them, whether the blackbirds would enjoy those too. Of course, suet is another welcome food, unfortunately I have run out of it.

I am glad the malus tree, which had such a heavy crop in the autumn, maybe the best yet, although fed on every day, still has hundreds of crabapples left. It is such a vital supply to so many. Blackbirds love it and I am surprise not to see the thrushes in it more often. This morning we had three jays feasting there. Pigeons also spend a great deal of time enjoying its fruits as do squirrels. The most surprising visitor to the malus tree was a pair of sparrowhawks. This was witnessed by my neighbor and her friend who were delighted.

Sparrowhawks fill me with mixed emotions. I have watched them catch, pluck, and slowly kill blackbirds, collared doves, and even one after the other tiny blue tits. I have to be philosophical about these happenings though, as I have positively delighted in watching the tawny owl catch voles – and do not voles have as much right to life as blue tits? Does the sparrowhawk not need to eat as the tawny owl does?

Every creature is so hungry today and many times I have put food out for them. It is a good thing that I am prepared with plentiful stocks on hand. It causes much amusement, when each year I ask family members for bird food as my Christmas or birthday gift. I hear people whispering about me being eccentric, which I probably am, but many years ago I read our wants are endless, but our needs are few. It struck me how true this was.