Recovery

This is our sparrowhawk yesterday evening, soaking up some sun after his near-catastrophic collision with the glass balustrade of our balcony. He looked fine and rather laid-back but by this morning he was....

....out hunting with focussed determination. Here, he's on one of the chaffinches' favourite stopping-off points on their way to a hearty meal at our feeders, and....

....here he's looking down onto one of the main feeding areas.

Whereas before we counted ourselves fortunate to see him once in every three days or so, today we spotted him no less than six times - here he's sitting on top of the sunflower feeders in the front yard.

One wonders why he's so frenetically active, whether he didn't feed while he was recovering yesterday or whether he's building himself up, in our present almost springlike weather, for a busy breeding season ahead.

Whatever the reason for this burst of activity it's a relief that he's come through this unhappy episode with no apparent harm.

A Disaster.... Nearly!

At lunch time yesterday the sight of our sparrowhawk apparently dead on the balcony filled me with horror - for it was obvious that he had collided with the glass railing, something which several small birds have done over the last couple of years, often with fatal results, even though we have put decals onto many of the panes.

A close look suggested that the bird was dead. The only sign of life was his tail, which kept flicking up and down.

Then, very suddenly, and to my great relief, he was up on his feet, looking extremely confused but otherwise fine. My next worry was that he might have broken or dislocated a wing but, after almost half an hour of thinking about it, he finally decided....

....it was time to go - but he could not work out how to get either over or under the sheets of glass, expending....

....huge amounts of energy bashing himself against the panes until I could bear it no longer, so went out and shooed him in the right direction, after which he flew off at some speed.

We worried overnight that he still might not survive but this morning, standing at the kitchen sink and watching the tits at the peanut feeders, a familiar brown, barred shadow shot low across the road and into the gorse bush.

It could, of course, be a different sparrowhawk but it seems unlikely that a rival has moved so quickly onto our hawk's patch. So, hopefully, he has survived and learned a hard lesson.

Where Have They Gone? - 3

I spent the Easter and Summer terms of 1963 as a teacher and estate worker at Bernard Mizeki College, a boys' boarding school in the bush of what was then Southern Rhodesia. I was given plenty of responsibility, I was treated as an adult, I was worked exhaustingly hard - and I loved it.

I wasn't the only volunteer. Michael (back left) and Malcolm (foreground left) were out there under the auspices of Voluntary Service Overseas, and we messed together in one of the staff houses.

I met some very dedicated people there and the thought of seeing and working with them again was one of the factors that prompted Mrs MW and I in 1967 to chose to go to what was then Ian Smith's Rhodesia, to teach at the same school.

During the three years of our contract we renewed my old acquaintances, we met many more similar-minded people, and....

....we met relatives of mine who had long settled in the country - picture shows me with my cousin Charlotte in a maize field on one of the Kirkmans' big farms.

When, very regretfully, we left Bernard Mizeki, the leaving card from our colleagues, both teachers and support workers, reflected the variety of people who worked there.

After returning to England we kept in touch with several of them, and had news of others through them. Sadly, as always happens, the connections steadily broke down and, to make matters worse, Rhodesia/Zimbabwe was plunged into a vicious civil war.

Despite this, and despite the decades that have passed, we remained in contact with a few, so we learned that many left the country, scattered to South Africa, Canada, New Zealand and the UK, and some died well before their time.

The contacts with those happy days are now very tenuous, but because our time there was so happy, they remain very precious to us.

Solitude

I consider myself exceptionally fortunate that I can walk a few hundred yards from our house and find myself trudging along paths where I am unlikely to meet anyone - not because I want to avoid human contact but because I am one of those people who craves occasional solitude, and within that solitude a time to think about life without interruption.

On my morning walk today I encountered no-one from the time I left my front door to the moment I returned, refreshed if a bit damp from the rain; and part of that refreshment came from the wildlife that surrounded me on that walk, the song thrush calling for the first time in the trees by our house, the coal tits squabbling over nesting sites and mates, and the first small wildflower of spring....

....a solitary daisy which, in a few weeks' time, I would hardly have noticed.

Unfortunately, I returned to a deserted garden, deserted, that is, except for the cause of its emptiness - the male sparrowhawk which we're feeding, indirectly, at some cost.

Littleferry

Littleferry was beautiful this morning when we arrived at about nine-thirty, with a brisk southwesterly blowing, the temperature soaring to a dizzy 8C, and plenty of cheering sunshine. However, the first thing we saw as we dropped down onto Littleferry's main sandy beach was....

....a dead razorbill.

Happily, this was the only dead bird but it formed a high proportion of the birds at Littleferry as there were so few. So, whereas a few weeks ago we'd have seen perhaps fifty eider, today....

....we found just one pair swimming in the entrance to the loch.

This might all have been very depressing but we were greatly cheered by hearing the songs of the first....

....skylarks of the year, at least three of them, all flying and singing high above the links. These are, I think, the males who have arrived early to stake out their territories.

The weather seemed to spur us into what was, by our standards, a long walk which took us along the banks of the main pool of....

....Loch Fleet, where there were very few birds and no sign of the seals which usually adorn the further sandbanks in this picture.

So.... a very enjoyable morning's walking but, oh!, we are seeing so little wildlife these days!

Searching for Spring

It's the time of year when exciting things Natural are miserably scarce in the woods, so I find myself thrilled to spot something as 'ordinary' as this outbreak of orange mould on a dead twig or....

....a couple of small witches' butter fungal 'flowers' on a dead gorse branch; and I begin to wonder whether, in order to get my daily Nature kick, I should set out to become a world expert on....

....the bewildering array of mosses and lichens, of which there seem to be plenty around even through the worst of the winter months.

Our walk today was promising to be as barren as ever when....

....I heard a bird calling in the pine plantation by Roe Corner, a call I didn't recognise but which the Merlin app identified as a mistle thrush. It was a short, repetitive call, the sound not dissimilar to a song thrush's call but with a very limited repertoire; glorious enough in the circumstances for me to stand for ten minutes listing to it.

Sadly, for all my searching I could not find the bird in the thick tangle of undergrowth but, nearing home, I came across a very welcome but unwelcome sign of the coming spring....

....the first squashed frog of the year.

Hungry Birds

We've had warm sunrises, with skeins of pink-footed geese calling as they fly past each morning, following the coast northwards to their foraging fields.

We've had snow, just a dusting of it, but strange, powdery snow that was exceptionally slippery underfoot and very persistent despite the warm sunshine.

In these conditions the small birds should be eating us out of house and home but, with the exception of the blue, great and coal tits round the front of the house, they're hardly eating anything, instead....

....gazing longingly from afar at feeders overflowing with good food but loath to swoop down to it because....

....you-know-who hangs around hoping, expecting them to do just that.