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.
Sunday, 1 April 2007
Sunday, 25 February 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, 24 February 2007
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.
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.
Monday, 8 January 2007
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?
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?
Monday, 1 January 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, 28 April 2005
Noisy Duck
The weather here has been so grey, gloomy, damp and dank lately. This morning I came through from the bedroom and was surprised to see no creatures waiting by the patio doors in the lounge, so I did my inhalers, and went through to the kitchen to nebulize antibiotics. After at least half an hour through the window I could hear a loud noise. I went to the side kitchen window and looked out – there were seven female pheasants and their male admirer. He is a splendid looking fellow, who spends most of his day puffed up and strutting around the garden to show his lady friends what an admirable looking chap he is! Usually he is waiting by the patio doors and imperiously tapping to let me know he is ready to be served breakfast, but today he was waiting with his harem outside the kitchen window, also waiting with them were the duck pair, a robin, a blackbird, a blue tit, a magpie, and three squirrels, all in the pouring rain and all waiting patiently except for the female duck who was looking very indignant and making more noise than I could have believed possible.
Friday, 1 October 2004
A Forest For The People
In the autumn I went to Hatfield Forest
I came home with these images:
Reflections on the water
Drifts of dead wood anchored on lake edges, giving the scene an otherworldly look
Amazing fungus
Beetles, some common others never seen before.
Dragonflies and insects
Trees of all sizes, shades and shapes
Clean air
Gentle cows and soft-eyed, fluffy-coated calves
Ducks and geese, swimming, flying, walking or just resting by the lakes.
Black swans with red beaks and ruffled black back
Coots and moorhens
Endless clouds of thistledown floating past loosened by flocks of goldfinches sitting atop drifts of those seedheads.
Endless variety of birdsong.
Thrushes, magpies, blackbirds, jays, robins, warblers, and chaffinches were but a few of our sightings.
Yellow meadow ants.
Pastures rich in anthills, food for green woodpeckers.
More green woodpeckers than I have ever seen before in any one area.
The combination of water, meadow and ancient forest makes this a very special place for nature.
The magical trunks of some trees, vast and ageless with gnarled and twisted limbs reaching forth.
Giant redwoods, or were they pines? – telegraph pole tall and leaning drunkenly toward each other.
In the groves, sloes, elderberries, blackberries.
Hum of insects, buzz of bees and always the song of birds.
Calm and stillness that creeps up on you, filling your soul with peace and tranquility, and giving one such a sense of well-being.
These were the memories and thoughts that followed me home and I asked myself, what will happen to this wonderful place of water, grass and trees? This remarkable medieval forest – the oldest and only one surviving in Britain, when even more planes roar overhead and pollution slowly kills the life therein – where will the people go then? I woke in the night and thought I heard the distant trees calling to me, “Save us please”.
Who will help them?
Will you?
PS… and I haven’t even mentioned the myriad wild flowers, wonderful grasses, butterflies or moths.
I came home with these images:
Reflections on the water
Drifts of dead wood anchored on lake edges, giving the scene an otherworldly look
Amazing fungus
Beetles, some common others never seen before.
Dragonflies and insects
Trees of all sizes, shades and shapes
Clean air
Gentle cows and soft-eyed, fluffy-coated calves
Ducks and geese, swimming, flying, walking or just resting by the lakes.
Black swans with red beaks and ruffled black back
Coots and moorhens
Endless clouds of thistledown floating past loosened by flocks of goldfinches sitting atop drifts of those seedheads.
Endless variety of birdsong.
Thrushes, magpies, blackbirds, jays, robins, warblers, and chaffinches were but a few of our sightings.
Yellow meadow ants.
Pastures rich in anthills, food for green woodpeckers.
More green woodpeckers than I have ever seen before in any one area.
The combination of water, meadow and ancient forest makes this a very special place for nature.
The magical trunks of some trees, vast and ageless with gnarled and twisted limbs reaching forth.
Giant redwoods, or were they pines? – telegraph pole tall and leaning drunkenly toward each other.
In the groves, sloes, elderberries, blackberries.
Hum of insects, buzz of bees and always the song of birds.
Calm and stillness that creeps up on you, filling your soul with peace and tranquility, and giving one such a sense of well-being.
These were the memories and thoughts that followed me home and I asked myself, what will happen to this wonderful place of water, grass and trees? This remarkable medieval forest – the oldest and only one surviving in Britain, when even more planes roar overhead and pollution slowly kills the life therein – where will the people go then? I woke in the night and thought I heard the distant trees calling to me, “Save us please”.
Who will help them?
Will you?
PS… and I haven’t even mentioned the myriad wild flowers, wonderful grasses, butterflies or moths.
Monday, 20 September 2004
Pheasants in the Sun
Even pheasants scurry across the open fields with the sun on their plumage, echoing the color of the trees autumn coats.
Those trees that are not waving scary bony fingers and bare arms at me are beautiful, reds, yellows, orange and brown, with a smattering of green left on some.
We saw a flurry of scurrying pheasants hurrying across an open field of old beige cornstalks, the sun lit their plumage and reflected the rich autumn shades we could see in the nearby trees.
Those trees that are not waving scary bony fingers and bare arms at me are beautiful, reds, yellows, orange and brown, with a smattering of green left on some.
We saw a flurry of scurrying pheasants hurrying across an open field of old beige cornstalks, the sun lit their plumage and reflected the rich autumn shades we could see in the nearby trees.
Sunday, 12 September 2004
SparrowHawk
Sparrowhawk orange breast and full of zest
Knows what his chicks like best
Watching hungering, tireless
Plucking from the air, morsels helpless
Against mighty claws defenseless
Fluttering feathers: yellow and blue
While in a hole orphaned gapes lessen
Slowly droop, lackluster eyes close
And quietly, another motherless brood dies
Knows what his chicks like best
Watching hungering, tireless
Plucking from the air, morsels helpless
Against mighty claws defenseless
Fluttering feathers: yellow and blue
While in a hole orphaned gapes lessen
Slowly droop, lackluster eyes close
And quietly, another motherless brood dies
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