We are all in Dire Straits, though the band had no idea what was coming when they invented that name. However one thing that does come into its own in rural Suffolk is bird-watching as we struggle to come to terms with this global calamity. Or it did until lock-down. The challenge of naming our flying friends has been with us forever and especially since Victorian times. They were not into conservation then and to make the job easier were very happy to shoot down anything they saw. Birding can be carried out in small groups, with an enthusiastic partner, or solo, it provides a combination of exercise, plenty of fresh air and gentle use of the brain cells, and can be thoroughly rewarding by bike as well as on foot. But then came lockdown, and many people were restricted to views through their windows. Legs Knowland of Denham had given me a handful of waste wool, a by-product of her weaving hobby which, stuffed into a hole in a garden tree, has provided perfect material for the nest builders. Watching their industry through the kitchen window has provided an interesting diversion while washing up, though my springtime favourite this year, not seen much here before, is a pair of mistle thrushes. The unflattering Latin name of the thrush family is turdus, and viscivorous is their scientific name meaning “consumer of mistletoe.” Fond of almost any winter berries, in spring they seek insects on the close-cropped lawn and I’m confident they are nesting not far away.
Every year in March we see a jousting match between spring trying to arrive and winter not wanting to depart, and the northern breeders like the fieldfare will not have departed before our early spring incomers such as the chiffchaff have arrived. Migrating birds are driven by the uncanny knack of being in the right part of the planet at the right time, for the food supply they need for themselves and the broods of chicks they are hellbent on producing. But the spring of 2020 will be remembered for one reason only and not the wonderful warm dry weather which blessed the Easter holiday this year. This is scant consolation for the coastal holiday traders as they countenanced deserted beaches and promenades in what would have been a perfect start to summer business. Walking the dogs every morning in wellingtons had been a bit of a chore in the wettest winter that farmers can remember. But what a difference now as two song thrushes give the impression of better times ahead with a daily vocal battle from opposing ash trees in the paddock. Others also have reported that the song thrush numbers are on the increase which is very good news.
May 1st was a good day, a turtle dove swung across the pond with its distinctive white banded tail on show as it landed. At the same time a pair arrived in Mike and Jan’s garden thus securing Redlingfield’s reputation as a haven for a very special migrant. That’s not to say the swallows swooping into the woodshed haven’t gone unnoticed and neither have we missed the daily duckling count, this mallard mother has done well (see picture below) with her brood of eleven, now about a month old.
We hear reports that life as we knew it pre-Covid19 will change as people will want to reconnect with Nature and perhaps become more self-reliant. That must be the message for our town-dwelling friends and surely not the readers of our award-winning three-village magazine here in Suffolk. The expression teaching Granny to suck eggs comes to mind. But there is no denying the quieter, slower life has made a difference and old skills like bread-making are all the rage. And the thorny question of drinking more at home? A cartoon in Ireland had a man pleading for the pubs to reopen before he became an alcoholic. Cheers to that.
Keep well and see you eventually.
The turtle dove arrived on May 1st and here looks a bit travel weary with some wear and tear to the tail feathers
After a week here the turtle dove looks splendid in the afternoon sun.
Pictured here with nine out of her eleven brood on May 10th, this mallard has done well to get them to a month old without losing one.
A beady eye from the mistle thrush.