I disturbed a bird the other day. I was walking through the garden of the Old Forge and something broke cover.
Though I managed to get a hurried snap of it in flight, it was gone too quickly for me to see what it might be.
It was only later, alerted by the scolding call of a chaffinch, that I saw it properly and realised that it was a …
… little owl (Athene noctua). I’ve only seen them before in Greece; perched high up and looking down at me from the crumbling walls of Molyvos castle. Introduced to the UK during the 19th century, little owls feed on small mammals, birds (hence the ire of the chaffinch), beetles and worms. The Old Forge owner has recently found a cache of dead mice and voles in one of the bedroom window frames. It might be the owl’s larder; it might be the kestrel’s.
The owl didn’t stay around for long; what with being mobbed by small birds and intimidated by a slowly approaching clicking gardener.
I do hope I see it again and get a better photo of him/her (the sexes are pretty much indistinguishable). I think there is something rather lovely and exotic about having a little owl at the Old Forge.
I don’t get a great variety of birds in my garden.
Plenty of herring gulls,
and a family of charismatic crows. Hardly exciting stuff, though we do get …
… green woodpeckers too. These are regular visitors, feeding mostly on the ants that live in our dry, chalky soil.
But in comparison to the Priory, our garden is a bird wasteland.
A Priory great spotted woodpecker keeps a wary eye on me
I’m not really a birdwatcher. Not really. I mean you wouldn’t call me a twitcher or even a birder – I don’t even take binoculars to work. (At least not yet).
A female mallard over-reacts to my approach on the east pond
Sure, I’ve always been interested in birds just not … erm, evangelical if you know what I mean.
A male does the same – certainly breaks the quiet of the place
Not like a friend of mine, who is a little fizzy, shall we say, when it comes to birds. It is simply impossible to go on a country walk with him.
And in tandem
Every ten yards, he’ll stop, shush me (!), raise his ‘bins’ (binoculars to you and I) and spend several minutes trying to identify a tiny, brown speck fifty yards away. Meanwhile, I’ll be sighing loudly, gazing immobile at the sky, kicking leaves about, lusting after a pint, curling my tongue into a tube or petulantly flicking acorns at his head.
A chaffinch coming into land on a feeder
But since I started work at the Priory I’ve become much more aware, and appreciative of, the birds that visit or live in the gardens. One might almost say I’ve become a bird anorak. Almost.
It started on my first day; a hot, still and sunny July morning – spent weeding. I immediately noticed just how much wildlife there was. I was already in love with the place but all that ‘life’ added an extra depth of interest, a further layer of beauty that I was instantly drawn to and wanted to explore and encourage.
So, during my first winter, I built several nest-boxes. Using left-over timber from compost bin construction and old roofing tiles, they were quick and easy to make.
An old blue tit egg – I left it out on the grass. I’m sure it made a tasty (if rancid) snack for something or other
At this time of year, I clear them all out (removing the odd dead baby bird, unhatched eggs and any nesting material) and make a tally of those used during the previous season. Out of eleven boxes, seven were nested in last year – a take up rate that matched last year and one I’m pretty happy with. (Though my tawny owl box was a tawny owl no-no; looks like mandarin ducks used it again).
Father Christmas was kind to me; as well as a robin/pied flycatcher ‘box, I was given two bat boxes. There are bats at the Priory – I’ve seen both pipistrelles and a (dead) brown long-eared bat but these will be the first roosting boxes to go up.
Within an hour of fixing one to an oak it was investigated – though not by its intended tenant.
The robin/flycatcher box is now up on one of the large oaks. Looks like a perfect grey squirrel (damn and blast them) baby-bird-chomping-station to me but we’ll see.
Goldfinches visiting a few weeks ago.
As well as building nest boxes, I also started feeding the birds. We currently have six feeders (all protected against grey squirrels – damn and blast them). And we get a good selection of visiting species.All the usual suspects of course; blue tits and …
… their larger cousins, great tits (there goes another big spike in my viewing figures; thanks to the Google searches of teenage boys. Sorry lads.) …
… and my favourite of the three; the shyer, less ostentatious coal tit.
More common and less retiring than I thought, long-tailed tits flit in and out of view regularly. I generally hear their high-pitched, repetitive call before I see them. I never see a single bird; they always appear in small flocks and it this insistent calling that helps keep the group together.
During recent snow, a dunnock pauses before dropping to the ground to feed on the spill beneath the feeders.
I’d always supposed nuthatches were fairly rare but I see them daily.
A male blackbird in a hurry.
And a female heading for the apples I’ve put out. But these apples always disappear way too fast. I suspect crows carry them off. Either crows or grey squirrels (damn and blast them).
A song thrush flits away towards shrub cover. Tempting to use words like frolicking in a scene like this but finding enough food in snow doesn’t leave much time for frolicking, I fear.
I’m a bit obsessed with robins. They are constant companions and so darn photogenic, I can’t help it. But I make no apology – it is my blog after all. Anyway, it’s probably an infatuation I’ll grow out of … but I suspect not.
They are robust characters, battling with one another for the rich territory that is the feeding area. And this one is an adept master of millet-seed-balancing.
The other day, I was photographing goldfinches …
… when I noticed two different yellow finch-like birds. And quite honestly, I am not entirely sure what they are. I think (after lots of page flipping and internet clicking) that they are siskins. The top one a juvenile male and the lower …
… a female. But I would welcome confirmation (or correction) from all you birdy types out there. Needless to say, I’ve never seen a siskin before (and perhaps I still haven’t).
Shortly after I took this photo, I heard one shrill blackbird alarm call and all the birds disappeared! Just like that. The garden had been full of birds and their tweets and trills but suddenly there was just total silence. What on earth?
I turned round and looked up into the large greengage tree and, for the space of five seconds, a sparrowhawk glared down at me. I fumbled with my camera, frantically trying to focus on the eyes rather than on all the intervening branches and managed to click twice. Then he vanished. My first sparrowhawk shot! Not quite the one I hoped for but it’s a start. And I know he’ll be back. Because once I started feeding and encouraging small birds into the garden, I also created a target rich environment for a sparrowhawk; I also started feeding and encouraging them.
The grounds of the Priory can be a scary place when the wind gets up.
Even the largest trees twist and sway alarmingly; creaking, groaning and occasionally hurling down dead branches. Generally, I think of trees as benign stalwarts but in high winds, I keep a wary eye on them and avoid walking beneath those shuddering arms.
Afterwards, I collect all the branch and twig litter and barrow it off to the bonfire site.
Except for bigger, heftier branches. These I haul off to the ‘Nissan Hut’.
This is one of two that we have and is, I think, a 1940′s construction. It isn’t a building of great beauty (though not without some charm), and as it is gently crumbling, we did consider demolition. But its roof is asbestos and professional removal would have been prohibitively expensive. One day, when one of the huge oak boughs above crashes down, we will have to dismantle it, but in the meantime I’m glad we kept the ‘hut. It makes a fine, temporary log store for wind-fallen and pruned branches, as well as any felled trees. It is a dry place to work when it is pouring with rain or …
… snowing. With the radio on, one might even call it cosy.
Using an axe is obviously warm work but, perhaps surprisingly, so is wielding a chainsaw. Perfect cold-weather work and lots of it too. Once chain-sawed or split, I take the logs to another outbuilding containing old pigsties.
This sty holds all the logs I’ve cut/split this winter: a stack five foot high, fifteen long and five rows deep. We have quite a backlog (!) of firewood, so these logs won’t be burned for three or four years; more than enough time to season.
I don’t think we shall be cutting any trees down at the Priory this year, but at the Old Forge, I’ve felled half a dozen dead pines.
Call me over-cautious, call me timorous but working alone with a chainsaw and on a slope, this is about as big a tree as I will tackle.
Cut up, mixed with hardwood and seasoned, the pine will eventually be used on the house woodburner.
Incidentally, if you’re unsure which wood burns best, the following poem is a good starting point.
‘Song of the Forest Trees’
Logs to Burn! Logs to Burn!
Logs to save the coal a turn.
Here’s a word to make you wise
when you hear the woodman’s cries.
Beechwood fires burn bright and clear Hornbeam blazes too; If the logs are kept a year To season through and through.
Oak logs will warm you well,
That are old and dry;
Logs of pine will sweetly smell
But the sparks will fly.
Birch logs will burn too fast;
Chestnut scarce at all;
Hawthorn logs are good to last -
Cut them in the fall.
Holly logs will burn like wax,
You should burn them green;
Elm logs like smouldering flax,
No flame to be seen.
Beech logs for the winter time,
Yew logs heat as well;
Green elder logs it is a crime
For anyone to sell.
Pear logs and apple logs, They will scent your room; Cherry logs across the dogs Smell like flowers of broom.
Ash logs, smooth and grey
Burn them green or old,
Buy up all that comes your way
Worth their weight in gold.*
Holly and ash do indeed make fine firewood and may be burnt ‘green’ – though you shouldn’t have to. Ideally, season all firewood for a year or two. Personally, despite the above, I find Sweet Chestnut burns well – perhaps they mean Horse Chestnut which I haven’t tried. The poem doesn’t mention willow or alder; the Priory has plenty of both and when dry and seasoned, they too make excellent firewood. Burning too much conifer can lead to a build up of resinous tar in your chimney and increase the risk of a chimney fire. And you seriously don’t want that. If you’re ordering a load of firewood, do ask what sort of wood you’re buying: rather a mix of oak and ash than, say, leylandii! And order only from a recommended, reputable supplier. A friend of mine didn’t and had a huge tipper-load of sopping wet logs dumped on her driveway.
Anyway, back at the Priory, I also keep warm by tending to the …
… seven large compost bins. I turn the contents regularly, though when I built them …
… I hadn’t foreseen how much rainwater they would hold and how that would turn the surrounding ground into a quagmire. Definitely, welly work. After a few minutes pitch-forking, I’ve already removed two of my statutory five-layer, winter clothing.
Whenever, I turn compost there will always be a robin close by. Always.
And living in the compost …
… is a fine, big, fat toad (November 2012). Feeding on my worms, no doubt. I occasionally get mole hills beside the bins too – it seems allsorts of creatures covet my lovely worms. Frogs and toads in the compost would explain why a grass snake (Natrix natrix) has taken to hanging about – (filmed last summer).
Beauty isn’t he? And a big ‘un.
As I’m jogging about the estate, doing star jumps, staving off frostbite, I keep an eye on Margaret’s sheep. Occasionally, after heavy rain I’ll see a ‘cast’ ewe, ie one on its back and unable to right herself.
Her ‘friends’ are supremely un-concerned by her plight
Sorry, not a great photo – I used my phone as it seemed discourteous to leave the poor thing feebly waggling her legs whilst I ran for my camera. Once tugged back upright, she was fine and wobbled away without so much as a thankful nod or glance. Left alone, wet, and particularly pregnant, ewes are often unable to get on to their feet and can die; a soaked fleece is very heavy! So if you see a cast sheep, do help out. It won’t thank you but the farmer will.
I’d never seen this before. Like an oxpecker on an impala, this magpie is feeding on parasites.
Initially, I worried it was pecking at the ewe’s eyes. But no, it was just gently probing about for ticks and grubs. It also spent some time diligently probing the ewe’s bottom – I’ll spare you that photo.
Happy magpie, happy sheep. Such a simple, symbiotic, Serengeti-ish, Sussex sylvan scene.
Warms my heart.
* Reproduced from ‘Learning to Live in the Country’ by Kathy Jones
I was working on the rose tunnel the other day and suddenly became aware of a constant, small companion.
It was a Goldcrest (Regulus regulus), Europe’s smallest bird (along with the similar Firecrest). I’ve only ever caught a glimpse of one at the Priory before, as it darted into some conifers – their preferred hunting ground.
This one was unperturbed by a gardener and camera looming ever nearer, as she hunted for insects on the roses.
It is a female – males have an orange crest.
Terrific, fearless little bird. I once watched one endlessly attacking its own reflection in an outside mirror. After twenty minutes, and fearful for its mental health, I chased it off and covered up the glass – and removed the mirror shortly afterwards.
Like many small birds, their numbers can plummet during harsh winters. But within a few years the population creeps back up again. According to the RSPB, the UK winter population is between three and five million, so you’d think you’d see them more often.
But given that they are so tiny, (about 3.5 inches long and a fifth of an ounce in weight) and don’t often come to feeders, I guess it isn’t such a surprise after all.
oooOOOooo
I’m sure you’ve often wondered how many Goldcrests you can fit in one nest.
On a recent visit to Antwerp, we managed to drain our glasses, rise from the comfort of a café and go to the zoo. I always like to visit a zoo on a city-break. An art gallery or two, a cathedral or castle, a museum, a botanical garden and a zoo. It is what I do. The entrance fee was pricey at €22 each but the entry staff eventually managed to prise the cash from my clenched, whitened fist. The place was teeming with keepers, caring for the healthy and (mostly) content-looking animals, so I didn’t really resent the cost. Besides we were there for 4 ½ hours!
Here’s a little of what we saw:
A Snowy Owl (Buboscandiacus), mesmerised by the wind blowing in the trees (and a dead mouse in its talons). In the wild its distribution is circumpolar – a fact which I’m sharing with you just so that I can use that word. Circumpolar, circumpolar, circumpolar.
Nearby a Great Grey Owl (Strix nebulosa), looked me in the eye, weighed my intellect … and found it wanting. Captive GGOs can live to the good-ish age of forty – but much less in the wild. And I might add that their distribution is also circumpolar. Circumpolar, circumpolar, circumpolar.
Flamingos (Phoenicopterus ruber) feed on small organisms filtered through their bills; it is shrimp-like crustacea that cause such a preposterous, outrageous pink. Zoos add a colour-enhancing supplement to their food.
The lions (Panthera leo) were dozing in the sun. No real surprise that it is the …
… females who do most of the hunting. Up until the 1940′s there were still lions in the Atlas mountains of Morocco. Now, except for a small, isolated pocket of the Asiatic sub-species in India, all wild lions live in sub-Saharan Africa.
This tiger (Panthera tigris) shows that, unlike other species of cat, it is perfectly happy in water. Tigers are, of course, an endangered species and are now extinct in: Afghanistan; Iran; Kazakhstan; Kyrgyzstan; Pakistan; Singapore; Tajikistan; Turkey; Turkmenistan; Uzbekistan and probably, North Korea. They have lost 93% of their historic range.
The Amur leopard (Panthera pardus orientalis) is critically endangered. The total wild population is between 30 – 40.
Like fingerprints, the stripes on no two zebras are exactly the same
The Plains Zebra (Equus burchelli – the most numerous of the three species) are prey to both lions and hyenas; a lousy place to sit in the food chain.
Elephas maximus indicus
At a zoo you can smell the animals and, I have to say, I do like the smell of an elephant. I’m the first to admit that it isn’t ideal to keep such a huge, majesty in a confined concrete enclosure. But if children can get up close and personal to an asian elephant, is it a price worth paying to keep some in captivity? (Elephants in captivity, that is – not children. Although … thinking about it ….. ?). Anyway. The kids (of which there were dayglo-droves, as far as the eye could see) will hopefully form a lifelong affection for elephants. As a four-year old at Berlin zoo, I certainly did.
Interesting elephant fact? They are the only mammal that can’t jump! Another one? Having no thumbs, baby elephants suck their trunks.
Giraffa camelopardalis
Like zebras, no two giraffe’s coats are the same. Interesting giraffe fact? They have the longest tail of any land mammal – up to 8ft.
The hippo (Hippopotamusamphibius) has an unsavoury habit – which we observed with grimaced distaste. While defecating, it rapidly flaps its paddle-like tail to spread its excrement over a wider area. I didn’t bother taking a photo.
Hippos are very aggressive – especially when they have young. Do NOT place yourself between a mother hippo and her baby. Actually, it doesn’t much matter; hippos will attack humans without any provocation.
They are commonly considered the most dangerous animal in Africa.
Far less dangerous, and previously unknown to me, were these South American Coati (Nasua nasua). These two were particularly absorbed by a restaurant review in my copy of The Guardian.
I was equally fond of these Javan Langurs (Trachypithecus auratus). The orange coloured one is a naturally occurring form. The main threat to this species is habitat loss; the burning and clearance of forest for timber and agriculture.
Chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes) are always fascinating to watch.
As we share 98.8% of our DNA, there is much to recognize. Interesting chimpanzee info? I overheard what they were whispering about; but it was kind of private.
Western Gorillas (Gorilla gorilla) are also close relations of ours. They share just under 98% of our genes. That missing 2% must include the swimming gene. They can’t.
How can anyone believe that we are not related? He looks far more human than many humans I’ve met … or dated.
The word Meerkat comes from the Afrikaans meaning marsh cat. Meerkats (Suricata suricatta) don’t live in or near marshes and they aren’t cats. Badly named as they are, they are NOT endangered. Yay!
Through thick plate-glass (too dark for photos), we watched underwater Grey seals (Halichoerus grypus) cavorting at great speed and agility; wreathed in curtains of silver bubbles and obviously playing. Just playing. A boy, his face lit up, turned and looked up at Jim with a huge grin and said, “Wow.” (Flemish for “wow”).
If zoos can excite and engage young children and instill in them a love for and appreciation of the wild wonder of the world then perhaps, just maybe, the next generation will make a better job of preserving it than we have. I have to hope so – as there seems little chance otherwise of saving that which is endangered. Certainly the obfuscating talks at the 2012 Earth Summit in Rio, seemed more concerned with preserving the profits of corporations and maintaining unfettered, infinite economic growth, than with preserving the habitats of the Javan Langur or the Amur Leopard.
Caracara
While we would all want zoo animals released ‘out there‘ into the wild (and not in glass and metal cages), in so many instances ‘out there‘ is where they become bush-meat; or trinkets; or rugs and wall-hangings; or spurious drugs; or trophies to idiocy. Until that is no longer the case, zoos must continue their breeding programmes and maintain gene pools and teach the young (and the old) how very precious and irreplaceable our co-habitants of this planet are.
Though I managed to get a hurried snap of it in flight, it was gone too quickly for me to see what it might be.
… little owl (Athene noctua). I’ve only seen them before in Greece; perched high up and looking down at me from the crumbling walls of Molyvos castle. Introduced to the UK during the 19th century, little owls feed on small mammals, birds (hence the ire of the chaffinch), beetles and worms. The Old Forge owner has recently found a cache of dead mice and voles in one of the bedroom window frames. It might be the owl’s larder; it might be the kestrel’s.
The owl didn’t stay around for long; what with being mobbed by small birds and intimidated by a slowly approaching clicking gardener.
I do hope I see it again and get a better photo of him/her (the sexes are pretty much indistinguishable). I think there is something rather lovely and exotic about having a little owl at the Old Forge.
