Settling In
Mid – May 06
The rain’s pelting down. It has been since almost 5pm this evening, starting just after my walk in the woods with Holly. And how beautiful they were after such torrents of late making everything so green and vibrant and magical, Holly would only venture so far. At the point where the most spectacular cluster of primroses were now fading, she did a sudden turn and returned to the car, And then it began to pelt down and now at 9 pm it’s still relentless. A huge wind has come up, like this time last year too, when the two rooks’ nests in the big ash outside the window were buffeted and shaken for hours and were finally dislodged. I realised looking up today, that there is no evidence of habitations this year – they seem to have registered the danger and moved to a slightly more sheltered location at the back of the house.
May 18th 06
Glancing out the window yesterday, a swallow had alighted on the fencing and was eyeing me warily. Surely he’s not looking at my small shed (built last year) as a nesting place. It’s far too small and has little height for safe nesting. I have left it open in recent weeks. It was to be the solution to my clutter problems but shortly after it was in situ, vast quantities of nothing occupied its corners till eventually I had to leave the door wide open to accommodate its contents. Had the swallow spotted an invisible ‘for rent ‘sign that I was unaware of?
He is around again today. Just outside the kitchen window.
During the week he was here in April, Cedric had dug two small areas out of the tangle of briars and nettles. They would house my new plan to grow flowers for the eye in one and herbs for the soul in the other. Cedric is of the Steiner school so both of these plots had rather odd shapes, no rigid angles, no ‘ghastly little flower bed’ as Dorothy used to say peering over garden walls at the rigid shapes.
I’d never seen swallows up close before. They’re always on the dash swooping and soaring, never a minute to pause. But there he was, stopped, picking at the newly tumbled soil. His features are quite fierce some, rather dishevelled looking with his splashes of red, white and black and not at all bashful of making eye contact. And then he’s gone and a robin takes his place. She pounces on a worm, not a particularly large one, but instead of consuming it instantly and putting the poor creature out of its misery, she flicks it about, tossing and retrieving it at will. Worms I know are not really of the scurrying kind, but this poor one was making such huge heroic efforts to escape, that I intervened, dashed out and seeing that he was still quite hearty I covered him with some powdery clay to give him a fighting chance. Minutes later I checked to see If I should retrieve his carcass and throw it to the wolves but he had quite disappeared, taken advantage of his sudden release. The robin appeared at my windowsill wet and sorry looking and I wondered if I’d deprived her of a vital meal. I left her some sunflower seeds which she gobbled instantly, gave me a chirp and was gone. And I wondered if she’d set me up.
At dusk I went for the ash bucket in the shed for although it was mid may it was definitely a night for a cheering fire. I had just time to register two drenched and dejected little swallows perched on my press sheltering from, at this point a torrential downpour, before backing out. Their reactions were quicker and as I made to turn, they fighter-jetted each side of my head and were gone.
And my jackdaw. He’s unusual in that he had strange markings. It’s as if someone at one point picked him up with fingers dipped in white paint. He has three war paint marks on one side and a thumb of white on the other. I only saw him once today at around six – like the swallows and the robin drenched to the skin. Tired too I reckon because even as I stood just a couple of feet from him he didn’t flay off but waited till I’d gone inside and then quickly hopped into this new cramped nesting box, where his young have been clamouring for food all day. Exhausting.
The blue tit is busy in and out of the box at the gable. He’s a no fuss little bird, saw the box two years ago and almost instantly took possession. It never seems to bother him if I’m nearby, too busy going about his business.
10pm Venturing out to sneak a log for the fire – one little sparrow is perching on the press in the shed. I shall shiver rather than disturb him again. Winds increased – a wall of sound -magical when you’re indoors even at a one logged fire whichn the wind is sucking up the chimney.
10.30 It’s still bright enough to pick up several lilac blossoms that have been dashed dashed into the muddy driveway by the wind and watch the blossom laden white thorn trees stoop heavily with the driving rain and their blossom – heavy weight.
May 31st and the buds are just opening on the wild roses in the hedgerows bringing a wonderful scent.
