Cornish Interlude

First sight of swallows.
The Old Man and me do drive away to eat pasties and drink tea on Goonhilly Downs. Blackthorn is blossoming, foot high willows at the side of the path have bright yellow "pussy willow" catkins, tiny sedges flower. We do walk along and I hear the skylarks - and see one - singing and singing in the sky. Then two swallows dip and scoop over the dry grass, pools and heath. The gorse is so yellow and lush this year and for the first time I do smell it... coconut. Gorse flowers smell of coconut.

The other day... we walk down to the coast at Rinsey. The lane is narrow. Again, blackthorn and bright deep-yellow gorse in the hedges. And with them - the pale yellow-green of flowering alexanders. They look so good together. And the whole lane smells of honey from the alexanders.

Ice Cool

The Old Man is very fond of ice cream. Any time. Any where. This is what a dear niece marveled at when I told her we had been walking about in the teeth of a gale at a nearby harbour, all the while The Old Man enjoying a huge vanilla ice cream. I let him solo on that one and struggled to work out the identity of a small plump seabird, paddling out past the fishermen's buoys and pausing to wash itself while the waves did rise and the wind did blow. (Manx Shearwater??)

Whatever. So fond of the stuff is The Old Man, he has finally given in and bought an ice cream machine. And so now he experiments. Well, within limits, this is a man who buys vanilla wherever he goes. But the other weekend he did make a very excellent coffee ice-cream, one where you actually heat up the milk with the ground coffee in it before you strain that off and proceed to custard-making stage. It tasted very good but had the bonus effect of keeping The Old Man up all night with eyes on stalks. I shall remember that should I ever need to lash him to the mainmast by way of look-out duty.

I don't think we are getting coffee ice cream this weekend. I expect it will be... vanilla.

Avian Murder: Survivor

I told you, in the previous post, the brutal story of infanticide carried out by a house sparrow upon a great tit nestling. And that we were left not knowing if any siblings had survived.

Well. The parent birds did not leave the area. They were still feeding something, somewhere. We became convinced that at least one chick was out of the nest-hole and somewhere in the yard. We began to hear the piping sounds of a tit chick. Thought perhaps - two, but to this day still do not know for sure.
A day or so after the killing of the first great tit nestling, I was watering the garden when I became aware that I was staring at a very young tit-chick, gape-beaked, unkempt, staring back at me from the concrete surround of a drain hole near the bushy undergrowth of a partly collapsed clematis. (That kind of garden). One survivor. I kept telling it to get under cover but it didn't listen.

Next day. And a strikingly similar baby bird was some five metres away in the herbage bordering our broken down decking. (That kind of garden.) Always the great tit adults were hunting food, dropping down to feed it and keeping close watch. Later that day there was no baby on the decking but I think I heard tit-piping from the hawthorn trees above.

So. We think at least one baby bird survived and flew. Not the nest exactly... but life on the streets so to speak. I am marveling at the vigilance and tough determination of its parents who must have got the nestling out of the nesting-hole somehow and, across several days, got it to travel some seven metres or so, still feeding, defending and moving it whenever they knew it had been spotted (by us.) And let me say, that chick must have had some stubborn, brave streak too.

But what seemed very odd to me, in retrospect, was that the sparrows gave up interest once the nest was emptied. They didn't pursue the survivor (or possibly - survivors) even though they were still hiding in the same yard. The sparrows wanted them out of that nest-hole in "their" territory at all costs. Finito.

Does this story ring a bell? Seems like it's a cruel, natural urge.
Survival tale.

Avian Murder In The Courtyard

It was a mystery. And the culprit was someone whom I least expected. The victim was a great tit chick. Almost fledged but found - by me - on the yard floor below the hole in the wall that is a great tit's nest. The crown of its head was bald of feathers and skin, clearly this was not a natural death.
I removed the little corpse and buried it, feeling sad because we had been watching the progress of the great tit family as much as we could and were waiting the fledging of the chicks. I tried to work out if the culprit could have been a rat. But if so, why not carry away and eat its catch? As well, I knew the entrance hole was too small for the usual suspects... poor old magpie or various members of the crow family. Whoever it was had either been disturbed or left its victim as a cruel display.

And deep in my heart I knew the unbelievable truth. For I had seen the head of a male sparrow protruding from this nest hole shortly before I found the corpse. There are sparrows nesting, as well, in the house corners on both sides of the yard. After the death I spotted other sparrows taking great interest, one standing on the edge of the hole. I chased them off from the wall.

At least one of the parent great tits is still around. We are not sure if there are still two on duty. The Old Man reported seeing a great tit doing some kind of aggression display-dance at the sparrows in the yard but I do not know if there are surviving chicks in the nest. Whatever happened and whether any of the brood have survived, I am very sad to witness this cold-blooded murder perpetrated by a neighbour - one about whom I can never feel quite the same.

Springtime: The Bird That Wants To Make A Phone Call

It's definitely spring. The Old Man and I get in the car to go walking .. as you do. A short drive to Penrose Estate and cars are decanting children, dogs, and walkers with sticks. The car park is packed and The Old Man do attract some attention trying to park in the last slot. His frustration at the current car do infuriate and defeat him, causing some outraged stares at an accidental horn beep. We give up and turn round to leave for another car park in Helston, at the lower end of the "trail". That's when I realise that quite some of the sniggering walkers are marshaling their sticks, children and dogs to walk out onto the road again and not into the wooded estate. So it dawns on me that they are parking up here to walk down to Porthleven for the Food Festival (sorry folks, last day today) which by all accounts has been packed out this year

But we manage our walk along the Cober and the woods of Penrose Estate. The first thing I see when I get out of the car ...  are swallows flying above the river. In the woods themselves birds are singing fit to bust: robins, wrens, blackbirds, chiffchaffs. Something more melodious. Blackcap? And then a song I don't know, probably some kind of warbler. I heard once that if you are trying to remember a bird's song then concentrate on catching the rhythmn and make up a phrase that echoes the rhythmn. So I do.
Definitely it's: "I gotta make a phone call, brrrr, brrrr."

I rushed (or hobbled) home and do try out the thing on the internet, starting with warbler songs. Maybe a reed warbler? But I am not convinced. So if anyone knows which bird sings "I gotta make a phone call, brrrr, brrrr." - I'd like help with the answer.

Autumn: The Robin Sings

I go up into the bedroom where the window is open to the autumn sun and hear the sound of a robin singing its soft autumn song in the hedge nearby.
I spot something on my chair. A tiny pile of bird .... waste. It do appear that the robin may have popped in for a call before he popped out again to sing so sweetly in the hedge.
Robins. Cheeky little beggars.

The Doll's Dander Is Up And She Do Agree: "Save Treloyhan Woods"

I have posted before about the pace of development in St Ives in Cornwall.... yes it may be nostalgia... but I really do think this is now beyond fond memories of the past.
I don't often write a post like this.... but an area close to my teenage-years heart is about to get the natural stuffing knocked out of it.
So I ask you to watch this film and consider contributing to the GoFundMe:Treloyhan Appeal against Cornwall Council's planning approval for 16 houses to be built in the wooded grounds of Treloyhan Manor owned by Methodist Guild Holidays Ltd. These woods form an important "green corridor" for St Ives/Carbis Bay and a stopping place and breeding ground for nationally rare bird species.
The campaign has launched a judicial appeal .... which costs money.

The Guest In The Bathroom - Part 2

... All Monday my guest chirps in the bathroom. The weather is full-on Cornish mist but I keep the window wide open (for the parent and the fledgling) whilst worrying about pneumonia in fledglings and such like. I can see that my guest is being fed - a very small clump of bird-feeder seed and several legs that were once attached to a Harvestman litter the box. The guest itself is on the floor again. I put it back in the windowsill box and close the access door to the loft.

But my guest is a magician. After an hour or two, I take a look... I can see no birdie but there is chirping coming from the loft. Heaving a sigh, we remove the access door again. There is a flurry of wings but nothing to be seen in the gloom. Perhaps the adult is coming to feed its chick by the roof space? Hearing loud chirps later in the day, I go into the bathroom again. No baby bird to be seen, not on the floor, not in the box. I look up at the loft hatch and there.... is a gapey yellow beak pointing at me from the dark of the roof space. Chirp.
How did you get up there? Or... are you a fledging sibling? I give up and mop up some of the bird poop and harvestman legs.
As it grows dark I go up to close the window. All is quiet. No birdie to be seen. I guess it is sleeping wherever it is. Tuesday morning - all is the same. No chirps. No bird. Peace and quiet. A sense of "Gone".
I close the loft access and wonder at this last conjuring trick.
Then I mop up and gratefully run a bath.
Bye-Bye Birdie and good luck.

The Guest In The Bathroom

It is the second day since our guest took up residence in the bathroom.

We have had fledgling problems in the past and on Saturday morning... there are chirps behind the bathroom wall where chirps should not be heard. During the course of the day these chirps move upwards and grow louder. On Sunday morning I remove the ceiling trapdoor and cautiously stick my head through the access hole. I can see a yellow, gapey beak pointing at me in the gloom. I slowly lower myself back to the floor, open the window wide... and leave, closing the door behind me. Later in the day, I am indeed cheered by the sight of an adult sparrow flying out of the bathroom window. But the chirping goes on and grows louder. The Old Man thinks the bird is now in the bathroom itself. The day grows dark. I open the door. The fledgling is on the floor, next to the bath. I close the window against the dark (surely Parent Sparrow have gone to bed now?), collect my night dress... and leave.

All night long I suffer guilt about small sparrow in the cold, dark, bathroom corner. I feel sure he have died of cold and hunger. So this morning, as dawn strikes, I am relieved to hear the chirps start up again. I creep into the bathroom. Very small sparrow is in another corner... delicate spatters of poop are growing in number. I open the window wide, creep out again, closing the door and returning to my bed. The next time I look, on my way to breakfast, the baby bird (it has all its feathers but is still very yellow round the beak-corners) is in yet another corner of the room. And I realise that there is nowhere for it to drop down into flight. Flying will mean lift-off from the floor. Doubt if it can manage that. And does the Parent still come to it? A flurry of shocked wings behind me tells me that it does.

The Old Man comes up with a temporary solution. He finds his polystyrene propagating tray with its sawn-off end (don't ask... can't remember why). I put it onto the bathroom's deep windowsill, with a towel covering part of the unsawn-off end (shelter). Next I pick up the outraged fledgling and pop it into its new "nesting box", on the sill and by the open window. I sigh, gather my toothpaste and brush and leave the room again.

It be chirping loudly as I write. But I do wonder when I get a wash.

Walking By Copperhouse Pool

Shaken by our morning visit to my old "home town" the other day (previous post). We accelerated away from it all and drove into Hayle, another town being "revitalised". A huge new Asda store removes our bearings... but at least the powers-that-be are repairing the rail viaduct that crosses a main square and has looked ominous for some time.
We find Philps for a pasty each and drive sedately along King George V Memorial Walk, parking up at the other end in a small space still available... for now.

The estuary tide in Copperhouse Pool is low.... a lot of mud... which means waders. On the way I spot shelduck. Out of the car we start to walk back along the Memorial Walk. First up is a flock of lapwings quietly settled on the flats. I see the elegant titfer crests and hear the occasional pipe. Now and then one rises up with that floppy-winged flight... broad ended wings.


My favourite comes a bit further along in the walk... The big guy with his down-curved beak. The curlew. And yes.... he do call as he comes in to land. I love that sound.
Elsewhere.... Redshank, Greenshank, Wigeon.... And lots of dogs chasing balls and stuff. Can hear a thrush.
Wuff.... Just what I need after the grim concrete of Carbis Bay.

PS. Hello friend looking to return to Cornwall.... I take back what I said about Hayle.... for now.

By Heck... A Fledgling Where It Shouldn't Be... (Episode Two)

Having established that a baby sparrow have somehow got itself into the tube of our extractor fan... and be shouting out to the world through the outlet grille .... (see yesterday's post)...
The Old Man and me do decide there is nothing for it but to try to release it from inside the house. There have been many a tradesman who do nearly come to blows with The Old Man over his insistence that things be done a certain way. And in this case he insisted that we be able to get at the extractor fan outlet, which is hidden by a cupboard, rather than being walled in.

And so it be that I do empty everything including a kitchen sink .... (well, no, not quite)... from said cupboard and The Old Man sets about unscrewing its backboards. Next, he removes the insulation... (paff... pthah... archoo!) .... which do leave us staring at a coil of extractor hose running up from the floor below. Slowly The Old Man disconnects the hose from its solid junction and I hurriedly fix some paper over the junction pipe ... else all will be lost if the fledgling plummets downwards. Finally, we do peer into the hose and see for ourselves the feathered bum of a small bird standing on the bend before the grille.

Well, I do try a small box held underneath the end of the coil... a bit of judicious wiggling and shaking. No good. A careful hand creeping up the pipe... just causes the bird to shuffle out of reach towards the grille. In the end we cover what gaps and remaining insulation we can....and carefully close the cupboard door.

I am scratching me head wondering what to do next, when The Old Man shouts that the chirping is now very LOUD. We carefully open the cupboard door... and there on the floor is a small but perfectly formed sparrow.

Long story shortened... I do manage to catch it and decide that The Old Man's advice to put it out of the window onto the roof is perhaps not the thing to do. I go downstairs and into the yard and put it into the thick shrubby clematis that covers the house wall under the nest boxes. The little thing do immediately plummet into the shrubbery under the clematis stems. But tis the best I can do. The clematis heaves with sparrows on occasion and I think it must form a landing platform for the the fledglings who manage a more orthodox entry into the big wide world.

Oh. Yes. How did it get into the pipe in the first place? It must have bounced along the top of the house wall as far as the hose... where The Old Man do spot that something have made a nice raggedy hole. Some years ago we did have a slight mouse problem....

And, yes, 36 hours later, there still be healthy chirping from the shrubbery and an adult bird in attendance.... so we live in hopes we did the best we could.
Next step... a new hose perhaps.

By Heck... A Fledgling Where It Shouldn't Be... (Episode One)

'Tis a strain during the fledging season...
Every year we do have sparrows who insist on nesting under the gutter above me bathroom.... despite the bird boxes fixed close by on the house wall in an effort to tempt them elsewhere.
Last few years this do cause some anxiety as the odd fledgling jumps the wrong way so to speak and ends up bouncing around in our minimal roof space. (No fatalities that I know of... but it has caused extreme measures of removing loft hatch... opening the window wide and leaving the bathroom alone... for days sometimes....)

So it seems this be shaping up to be another wayward year. On a couple of occasions, above my head, I do hear some small thing flapping about where it shouldn't, although eventually all seems well and all "cheeps" do be back where they belong. However, the other morning I do grow suspicious as (like a submariner listening to sonar) I track a small cheep, travelling above me down the the room.... away from the nest.... its appropriate fledging point.

I do fret. But then I hear The Old Man shout that the baby have got out. He can see a bird on the roof of the kitchen porch below the bathroom. We both heave a sigh of relief.....
Until I pick up a watering can in the yard and hear a nearby adult sparrow cheeping like billy-o and answering chirps from well above the kitchen porch.
I do look up. To my horror I do see a tiny yellow beak, flapping in time to the chirps... from behind the grille of our extractor fan outlet in the middle of our upstairs wall.

"Ecky Thump" I do swiftly paraphrase, appalled.

There is no way we can reach the extractor grille .... above that thin plastic roof of the porch .... and also some distance from our solid but complicated house roof. We be too old and dizzy for such acrobatics.
There is only one route left....
It will have to be an inside job.

Beautiful Day On The Lizard

The other day we surprised ourselves with an impromptu visit to The Lizard ... Well OK ... we got lost.
We parked up in the village itself and took off along a road and footpath into a valley leading to the next little cove, a beautiful nature reserve stuffed full of flowers and the song of whitethroats, Caerthillian.

In The Garden - Havoc Wrought

...Not least on me... I seem to have developed some kinda late-onset hay-fever. My nose runs like a tap and glows like a beacon. My eyes are small, shrunken and peppery. I sneeze and sigh and feel very sorry for myself. Ah well.

But we do eat potatoes from the garden. In fact, I do dig up all the first earlies on account there is no doubt but we have been blighted. First time that it's got to the lovely tatties themselves. Had to wash and sort them, dry the survivors lovingly and put them in a box in the cool garage. Meanwhile The Old Man do cut the foliage from the second earlies what be showing dire signs of same. Hoping to have caught it before it trickles down to the tatties beneath.

This morning I do go to check my poor broad beans what have suffered weevil depredation and snails (snails don't usually bother them but I guess they saw an opportunity...) To my outrage I find the finally healthy tips are weighed down by fat dark greenfly with black legs... each the size of a tank. I have no option but to pick out these healthy tips with their sitting tenants... revealing as I do, the scurrying black ants what be placing the fat, reproducing beasts on my lovely bean plants. Blimey! The veg garden is challenging this year. But... am eating the strawberries... Yum! And eyeing up the peas for a first pick this evening. If something doesn't get there first.

In fact the whole cycle of life is a bit challenging this spring. Birds are fledging and quivering in fat, feathery bundles deposited in shrubs and trees whilst the parents hunt high and low to satisfy their hunger. The other day I skip like a ninny to film a caterpillar spinning its chrysalis on a sedge stem by the side of the drive. Truly, I be borbling on about the miracles of nature and so on. Next day I do find the chrysalis.... gone. Along with several of its brood-mates. I realise now it be likely that the desperate bird parents have taken them off to eaten by their children. One miracle of nature have been devoured by another.

Thinking Miyazaki Skies: Three

OK.
For this one be aware that there is a lark singing. And behind you is the sea.... with a group of martins (house or sand... not sure..) flying over the cliffs....

Spring And Stuff

Definitely spring has come... although the rain do fall as usual today. But the other day.. which be sunny... we lift up the dustsheet which we had spread out on the decking.. (the dustsheet we do block the back door with when the wind do drive in the rain). Underneath the sheet is a fully grown slow worm... bronze and sleek... still slow moving until I leaped indoors to get me camera... when it skidaddled toot sweet.... fast as a flash.
There are also some yellowhammers visiting the bird feeding area. They look wonderful and unbelievable. Like yellow bright canaries sitting in the plum tree in the feeding queue. Both slow worms and yellowhammers were thin on the ground last year. So I be very pleased to see them.

Ourselves? We do have a new baby. It sits in the corner and we do stare at it lovingly.
"Isn't it clean," say we.
"Isn't it quiet," agree we.
A brand new washing machine. Spring and spring-cleaning has arrived.

Spring: Red In Tooth And Claw

At last we have sun. Greenery showing. Hellebores, primroses, daffodils and camellias.
I need to get on and sow some vegetable seeds... the early peas and broad beans. The early potatoes are chitted and ready... just got to get their bed ready for planting.
Yesterday watched a pair of magpies building a nest in a spindly conifer down the way... they've lost nesting sites with trees coming down and people have cut down quite a lot of conifers round here. Anyway they do bury themselves into the branches, trailing long, uncooperative twigs and chucking at each other. Towards evening The Old Man watched a stand-off between them and a rook or a crow... he couldn't make out which. The bigger crow saw them off. But later I saw the magpies collecting again. Sure enough they were back in the spindly-tree... building again. Last year the pair tried three times to nest in this site. At least twice their nest was destroyed by rooks or crows...

This morning The Old Man is greeted by half a rabbit on the front path. Later I do bury the fluffy, grisly remains. Things is hotting up on the nature front.

The Sparrowhawk Rules...

The small birds have disappeared from the garden. The Old Man has taken down two bird feeders, leaving only one.
The neighbours have taken down their feeders as well.

And the reason is Madame Sparrowhawk (I do mention her a post or so ago). I have never known the like. Yes we do get a hawk coming through quite often. She usually takes collared doves.

But this lady do sit right next to the feeder... or in the tree the feeder hangs from... She sits and waits until we see her off.  I just have never known such a bold and stubborn one before.

Sunday Morning

...Spending it chasing off the sparrowhawk who is patiently and outrageously waiting on a stake next to the bird feeder... queuing at the "canteen". Shoo... shoo ... shoo go I.

Spending it holding up the bean canes whilst The Old Man hammers more stakes into the ground and we tie it all together... against the forecasted gales.

Spending it up to me wrists in brioche dough... massaging in the butter .... gloop... yum.

Spending it listening to The Old Man's CD of  Ry Cooder & Corridos Famosos "Live in San Francisco".

Autumn Coming And The Rook Is Singing

It have been a good summer with hot, sunny days that finally give me squash and beans in the vegetable patch. A normal summer on this sea-surrounded bony peninsular with its mists, dews and granite hedges... do mean that precious few luscious vegetables survive the onslaught of snails and slugs. Believe me. I have tried most (non-poisonous) strategies known to woman. But at the moment, I count five squashes and some precious borlotti beans hanging from their canes.

The birds are keying into autumn activity. If you watch them you can realise that all that nesting and mating stuff doesn't just happen in spring. The sparrows in the yard have fledged their last brood  but ... The other day The Old Man did lean a ladder against the clematis that climbs the house wall in order to check out the sparrow nesting box above. Two sparrows immediately fly round him into the climber with a squawk and a chirp. The Old Man do back off immediately, thinking there must still be young in a nest in the climber itself. But after several days we come to the conclusion that the sparrow pair are minding the territorial shop. As our next door neighbour do say... they have "put their towels on the sun lounger"... staking a claim for next year's nest site.

Meanwhile... the rook do take up his singing post on a chimney or a TV aerial and he do sing his rookishly joyful song. No. Not "Caw-Caw" but a definite gruff and screamy song... It do have a rhythm and a repeat and a shape . "Ya-Ya. Yee-yeeh.." he shrieks. "Cruk-cruk.." he croons.
I wish I could give you a web-link to a recording of a rook's song but all everybody records is the mass calling in a rookery. What a shame. I love to hear the song of the rook. It is deeply uncharming and deeply celebratory.