Britannia, the waves, and optimistic birdsong

Last night's rains are just now heading rapidly downstream, and the river is flowing jolly fast, not aided by the 30ft tree which fell into it three days ago and has now lodged fast under the bridge.  Britannia is certainly ruling the waves today!

Weatherwise it hasn't been a great start to the year at Iford, indeed recent days have required the judicious placement of buckets under parts of the roof where tiles have slipped over the winter months (surprisingly common as anyone living under a very old stone roof will attest!).

 This morning, by contrast, I was awoken by nature's own alarm clock: birdsong and sunlight.  It reminded me of just how wonderfully infectious is the optimism held by our native songbirds on a bright winter's morning, as they anticipate the arrival over the hill of the warming rays of the sun.

You can't help but think happy thoughts of summer and the year ahead when greeted by such cacophony of joy.

The cats didn't notice, of course, steadfastly remaining in the warmth of the kitchen, protesting at the poor breakfast service from the staff (us).  Below: the matriarch Lily (right) and her son,11 years old but still a mummy's boy, (left).

Toads and rooks - must be breeding time!

The last week saw two fauna-related sights which are no doubt very common, but which are perhaps unusual to witness.

This evening we were witness to an extraordinary fly-by of an enormous group of rooks.  It wasn't just our average parliament of rooks arguing away however, this was much, much larger, and appeared to be a large grounp attempting to displace our resident population from the hanging beech wood behind the manor.  By the time I managed to get my camera out, the largest of the waves had settled back down behind the trees, but I did manage to catch the gist with my rather crummy autofocus - see what you think.



I would love it if any ornithologist could tell us whether or not rooks are known for displacing other colonies or whether this is my complete mis-interpretation of what was going on.

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Just before the weekend, a cacophany was raised outside the back door.  Whatever could it be?, thought those sat in the kitchen happily enjoying a cup of tea.  Well, opening the door revealed the vocal identity:  the merry toad.  Or more accurately, many particularly hopeful toads.

It was raining hard, and the wet weather had encouraged them out from their damp mossy homes.  But in their search for a pond, they had inadvertently ended up next to the bins, an insalubrious place for a romantic rendez-vous, you might think.

I have always wondered what the collective noun should be for a group of these maligned creatures.  But it is now quite clear: in this case it was most definitely an "orgy" of toads.

Warm, at 2 degrees.

Amazing just how warm it feels, yet it's only 2 degrees outside.  Fortunately for the birds and wildlife we are currently experiencing something of a mini-thaw, and the south facing slopes are beginning to show some earth again, revealing seeds, berries and bugs.


Overnight though, it is still very cold indeed, and so yesterday we constructed a natural shelter (pictured), to give some protection to our chilly birds at night.  Using half-pruners we lopped off the arms of our former Christmas tree (a fir this year, so a bit less scratchy than a spruce).  Placing an underlayer of branches on the floor of a sheltered spot under a wall, we formed an evergreen cavity with the remaining branches on top.

A plate of food outside encouraged its discovery and I'm pleased to note that, judging by the footprints, someone used the new shelter last night.  Hopefully we've provided a useful service; one can at least try!

A solution: Frozen Fatballs

Our avian friends are having a really desperate time of it with the weather so cold and I'm sure that a lot of people are putting out fat balls, nuts and other high-fat foods to keep the smaller birds alive.  I love the way that robins in particular will come and ask you for more when they have finished.  This bold little fellow (pictured sitting on a tree peony), alerted us to a problem with "his" (they are very territorial!) fatball: it was frozen solid.

It seems that the food we put out, if at all moist, simply goes completely solid after an hour or so, fat balls in particular; the solution we have found is to pass them through a cheese grater, and put out the resulting pile of fat-soaked nuts.  Taking them in once in a while allows them to thaw quickly, and the grains seem easier for the birds to eat.

I'm sure that the great- and blue-tits were grateful too, but our plucky young robin thanked us personally, sitting on his peony branch bobbing his head, and flying over to say hello when any of the family comes past the box tree in which he lives.

New Year snow

Like a lot of other people we are snowbound with more frozen days to come. A few hardy (or foolhardy) souls have attempted to drive into the valley with predictable results: going downhill is easy with gravity but getting back up a one-in-six gradient is altogether a different matter.

Not much visible wildlife other than a few hungry robins (fatballs are popular) but a lot of tracks in the snow - one of them a boar badger with feet like a yeti. At least you can see which setts are occupied.

Before the freeze we had a visitation of well over fifty fieldfares in the orchard. They had a banquet on rotting apples. This lead to a lot of shouting at each other and a drunken brawl between two males, feathers flying. Most years the same thing occurs with the ducks in the carpark by the river. Since then the only bird life of note has been one of the ravens flying low and trying to avoid being mobbed by the rooks, and the resident buzzard crossly leaving its branch on the drive whenever someone walks up there.