Birdsong

Anyone who knows me well, will also know how much I love my visiting birds. I have a robin who has almost become a pet this winter. He flies to my small walled garden when called and often alights really close to me when I venture out with dried mealworms. For almost a week, he went missing and I was distraught imagining a cat cruelly ending his life too soon. Sheer delight filled my heart on his return and touch wood, he has visited every morning since. Phew!

This weekend will see avid birdwatchers venture out to participate in the Great Garden Birdwatch. The count when collated provides vital information about indigenous populations and winter migrants. I love taking part and if the weather permits I will go to our local park to record numbers of woodpeckers, nuthatches and perhaps a blackcap or goldcrest.

I urge you to get out there with your field glasses and notepads. Your participation is a valuable contribution to scientific knowledge. A link for the RSPB Big Garden Birdwatch is here. https://www.rspb.org.uk/whats-happening/big-garden-birdwatch.

Birdsong morning

As the dawn lifts the shroud of darkness
the pale sky is charged with legions
row upon row
heading to the killing fields
an airborne whoosh
then another and another.

A shake of the worm bag
elicits a flash of red
as a robin alights on the fence
and two blackbirds
arrive on the rooftop.

Soon the titter of a wren
echoes in the alleyway
and shuffle-wing shares the spoils
the neighbour has put out
for all comers.

The winter-clad clematis
offers cover while the starlings
clamour to devour
the remnants of the feast
chattering and chunnering.

A flight-born chirrup chirrup
heralds the passage
of the grey wagtail
who sometimes quaffs
from the flat roof next door.

My day starts with the joy
of morning birdsong.

Thamk you for reading, watching and counting. 

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Fat Balls - you must be having a laugh!

Where do I begin writing a blog to suit the theme this week. I have to take you back to 2006. My lovely Mum had talked me into joining her at the Veterans Ball at Blackpool Tower Ballroom. I was a professional dancer and spent most of the evening dancing with elderly ladies who were without partners but desperate to get onto the floor.

Towards the end of the night, a gentleman stood at the edge of the floor and held out his hand, a signal that he would like me to dance with him. I was surprised to find that he was a really good dancer. Ian was visiting from Melbourne, Australia and he was so pleased to have found someone to dance with that he stuck with me and we spent the rest of the evening waltzing and quickstepping. I really enjoyed the experience and was sad to part. He was travelling to London the next day and would then embark on a whistle-stop tour of the UK before travelling on to the USA. We exchanged phone numbers then parted.

A week later I had a phone call from Ian.  He had arrived back in London immediately after the July 7th bombings. He was so worried about flying to the States that I suggested he came back to Blackpool until things had settled down. He said that if I would be his dance partner, he would love to spend more time here. Arrangements were made and he became a temporary lodger for my Mum and we spent the next few weeks dancing.

One day we were in Poulton-le-Fylde market where I was buying seed for my garden birds. Suddenly I heard Ian laughing raucously outside the shop. In the window was a sign that proudly announced, "Fat Balls for your Tits." He took a photo and posted on social media for the amusement of friends and family back in Oz. Whenever I hear the expression, I remember him doubled over laughing. It is a very happy memory.

I am an avid feeder of garden birds and have had some lovely experiences. One year I had two jays regularly visiting my garden and a few years ago was delighted to spot a pair of waxwings in the sycamore tree. One Christmas day, when the ground was covered with snow, my hawthorn tree was still laden with fruit and as I sat down to lunch, a great spotted woodpecker was sitting in my apple tree. I consider myself very lucky.

Every year at this time, I take part in Big Garden Bird Watch, a very worthwhile survey carried out by the RSPB. You only have to spend one hour between the 26 & 28th January logging the birds that visit your own garden. Just click on the link to find details of birds and how to take part.   https://www.rspb.org.uk/get-involved/activities/birdwatch/

A Winter's Tail

On a bright and bluish Boxing Day

When the house is quiet, 

The kids away, 

I am sitting alone

In the peace and the quiet

Facing the window

Wide and clear,

And I gaze to the garden

To frosted glass

While the tears drip down

My wretched cheeks

For the love that I lost

For the joy that passed

Then I stop and I peer at a flash of light

Of green and yellow

A bird in flight

With a soft black cap

and a bold black stripe

My acrobats are back to their nest. 

Dashing and dancing 

From limb to limb

Of the apple tree with the mouldy trim

Swing from strings to a coconut

To taste sweet suet and butternut

Such delight to my wondering eyes did appear

And brought me a smile from ear to ear. 

Thank you for reading. Now get birdwatching. Adele 

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Feathers

I love wild birds and as usual at this time of year I am feeding them, getting them used to coming into the garden in anticipation of the RSPB's Big Garden Birdwatch this weekend. I have recorded sightings in my garden for this project since I first heard about it ten years ago. I enjoy the hour with binoculars, sitting at my dining table, looking out of the window. I am often honoured with unusual guests on the feeders or the birdbath that was a wonderful gift from my son for my birthday last year. He also bought me a clock for Christmas with a garden bird at every hour. It makes me smile.

There are so many superstitions surrounding birds. A blackbird in the house is supposed to forewarn of a death. A white feather in your path is supposed to be a sign that your guardian angel is watching over you. A friend of mine found a mess of feathers in his driveway one day, then spotted a Peregrine Falcon devouring their former occupant a little further away.

I have told you before about my childhood fascination with Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poetic saga, The Rime of The Ancient Mariner, and unfortunate sailor who shot down the albatross who followed the ship and the curse that fell upon the crew, leaving them becalmed at sea with no hope of rescue.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!

Coleridge is the inspiration for my own poem this week.

The Feather’s Curse

In Xanadu, great Kubla Khan

A pleasure dome decreed.
He filled it with exotic plants
And birds with plumage never seen,
Of paradise and humming birds,
Parakeets and cockatoos,
Toucans and flamingos,
Macaws and peacocks blue.

And in this song filled aviary,

The Princess Aroonee
Would sing the sweetest songs on earth
In perfect harmony.
She was the purest in the land,
The brightest shining star.
Her true love was her childhood friend,
The handsome Kookamah.

But in the land of Xanadu

There lived an evil man,
A sorcerer as powerful,
As the mighty Kubla Khan.
Darkness crowded round him,
Light perished where he stood,
Vanity and pride possessed him,
He had not one gram of good.

He wanted to usurp the kingdom,

To surplant his bloodline there,
His plan was to seduce Aroonee,
Produce an all-powerful heir.
He knew the princess loved the birdsong,
Came to the dome to sing each day.
Dressed in vivid peacock feathers,
Disguised he waited for his prey.

He preened his glorious feathers,

Peformed a mating dance,
Flashing amethyst and emerald,
Waiting for his wicked chance.
But Aroonee’s love for Kookama,
Was pure as mountain dew,
She rebuffed the sorcerer’s advances,

Declaring her heart true.

The evil wizard was confounded,

Jealousy ripped his soul apart,
From his tail he drew a peacock plume,
And plunged its quill into Aroonee’s heart.
Her dying scream pierced the airwaves,
rippling across the land,
She spoke her breathless, dying curse,
As Kookamae struttedHe strutted held her hand.

Aroonee’s fate became a legend,

Her story travelled far and wide,
The cursed peacock cries her dying scream:
Its feathers never brought inside.


Thanks for reading, Adele.

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Lost - with a song in my heart?

I am a big fan of wild birds. I have an old apple tree in the middle of my lawn and every day I top up the feeder that hangs from a lower branch. I often watch through the window when I write. I keep an eye open through the open kitchen door when washing up. I am often rewarded by visits from blue tits, great tits, chaffinches and goldfinches. I am thrilled when the long tail tits visit and love to see tree sparrows, a species in steady decline now. 

Robins are regular visitors. One sits on the highest branch of my 100ft sycamore, trilling his wonderful songs. Last year I found some cushion stuffing blowing round the lawn and hooked it on the branches of the apple tree. When I trimmed the privet hedge in late summer, I found a small, perfect cup, the size of half a tennis ball: a nest made from the same synthetic stuffing. In winter, I have been fortunate to see jays, a tawny owl,  three waxwings (that was incredible) and a pair of grey wagtails. One Christmas Day, we sat down to lunch and watched a lesser spotted woodpecker picking off the last hawthorn berries. There was snow on the ground that year, quite a rare event on the Fylde Coast.

Birdsong is always in the air. Sometimes I listen to a CD of birdsong, in an attempt to recognise my little visitors when the light is too difficult to see their colours or they are obscured by leaves. It has been several years since I saw or heard a song thrush at home. I remember my Grandmother was always delighted to see one. I am not sure how many are left now but I will keep looking out. I take part in the RSPB Big Garden Birdwatch every January. The song thrush didn't make the Top 20 in Lancashire this year. Click on the link if you want to see the results or take part in the survey next January.   https://ww2.rspb.org.uk/get-involved/activities/birdwatch/results/

In September, during a short break in Kos, I was upset to see wild birds in cages in restaurants and outside in gardens. We sat in a beach front café in Agios Stefanos, listening to a caged goldfinch sing magnificently as it charged frantically back and forth long the perch in the caged. Kos is a beautiful island and to see a wild creature exploited as entertainment always distresses me. A wild bird is meant to be free, "why have the wings, unless you're meant to fly and tell me please, why have a mind unless to question why?" Bergman, Bergman, Legrand.

The subject of birds coming close to extinction has been a feature of the news this week. Many species of wild song birds native to Java in Indonesia are nearing extinction. They are captured, caged and enslaved because of their wonderful vocal repertoire. There are competitions held all over Indonesia in which caged birds sing for massive cash prizes: A top crooner can win equivalent to £60,000. In a poor country, this is huge incentive. It is driving Java's songbirds to extinction.

It is estimated that there are only 80 pairs of this exquisite green bird with bright red beak and black masked eyes left in the wild in Java. Experts from Chester Zoo are now conducting a captive breeding program. Isn't it sad.

Human beings are not content to subjugate and enslave each other. When I worked in Tenerife, we often found baby chimpanzees dead on the beach. Their photographer owners would drug them and dress them in baby clothes. They were cute. People loved having their picture taken with a baby chimp. The trouble is that babies grow up and then they are not useful: then they are drowned in the sea and wash up on the beach. The photographer just gets another baby chimp - wrenched from it's grieving mother - a near relative of every one of us. The world closes its eyes to the exploitation of wild creatures. We are still unable to stop the exploitation of children in third world countries and sex slavery in our own.

Caged Bird

by Maya Angelou

     

     A free bird leaps
 on the back of the wind

     and floats downstream

     till the current ends

     and dips his wing

     in the orange sun rays

     and dares to claim the sky.
 

     But a bird that stalks

     down his narrow cage

     can seldom see through

     his bars of rage

     his wings are clipped and

     his feet are tied

     so he opens his throat to sing.
 

    The caged bird sings

    with a fearful trill 

    of things unknown

    but longed for still

    and his tune is heard

    on the distant hill

    for the caged bird 

    sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

    and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

    and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

    and he names the sky his own.  

  

    But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

    his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

    his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

    so he opens his throat to sing.
  

   The caged bird sings

   with a fearful trill

   of things unknown

   but longed for still

   and his tune is heard

   on the distant hill

   for the caged bird

   sings of freedom.

 

 

Thank you for reading - Adele

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