More crow!

 

More crow!

Anvilcloud suggested that I save him some trouble by finding out the origins of ‘something to crow about.’ It means that an event or result is worthy of being bragged about, but all I have been able to discover is that it is a phrase that has been in use since the 1500s and is associated with the morning crowing of cockerels (roosters). Cockerels crow loudly to assert their dominance over their domain. 

The American expression, ‘to eat crow’ means to admit that one is wrong, particularly when a position has been robustly defended. It implies a degree of humiliation and arose from around the middle of the 19^th century. Humorous stories recounted how a conceited farmer was tricked into ‘eating boiled crow,’ which tasted foul. The idiom was shortened to ‘eating crow.’

‘Upstart crow’ was a description applied to William Shakespeare about 1592. Whether it was intended as an insult to demean him or used as a means of amplifying his eminence is probably a theme for a doctoral thesis (it becomes ever more difficult to find suitable subjects for dissertation in literature) One suggestion is that Shakespeare was denigrated as an impudent actor who had ambitions to become a playwright. That leads on to further discussion about who ‘really’ wrote Shakespeare’s plays.

‘Upstart Crow’ was a 2016 BBC television series written by Ben Elton. This excellent sitcom loosely traced the beginnings of Shakespeare’s life as a writer in London. It starred David Mitchell as the playwright, and had a superb supporting cast, including Liza Tarbuck, Mark Heap, and Gemma Whelan.

‘Stone the crows’ has its roots in early 20th century Australia, when farmers threw stones at crows which raided crops or attacked newborn lambs. It migrated to the UK and became ‘Stone me!’ as an expression of surprise.  

Crows’ feet are the tiny wrinkles that form over the years at the outer corners of the eyes. They start to appear from the late twenties and are the result of repeated smiling. They are more kindly referred to as laughter lines.

Crows are revered as messengers in many cultures and folk lore tells many tales. In Ancient Rome crows were used to divine the future. In later centuries, a single crow over a house foretold death and crows were believed to transport a person’s soul to the afterlife. A popular saying was ‘a crow on the thatch, soon death lifts the latch.’

The thought that crows are associated with death and mourning is borne out by observations of behaviour around a dead crow. The first crow to see the body called out and soon others flew in to join in a strident chorus of loud cries. The explanation was that the ceremony helped the crows to warn of danger and to cope with the reality of death.

I have not seen this happening with crows but have seen magpies behave in a similar manner. A cat carried off a young magpie and the other magpies, in all the trees around, set up a cacophony of grief, for that is what it seemed to be, that continued for almost half an hour. It was deafening and impossible to ignore.

Cherry tree

 

Cherry tree

                                                    April blossom

We have a cherry tree in the garden which was heavy with blossom in early spring and is now full of ripening cherries. I looked at it yesterday to see if there were any ready to be picked. There were a few near the top of the 12’ tree that looked ripe, but none closer to hand.

This morning, I watched a large magpie fly into the tree and a few moments later it flew out with a cherry in its beak. I was immeasurably delighted to see that. One of the purposes of growing fruit in the garden is to encourage wildlife. There’s enough for all to share. I have not seen it return, though I haven’t sat with my eyes fixed on the garden all day.

I was reminded of Robert Herrick’s poem, Cherry Ripe, which of course led me to start singing the song. 🎜🎝

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones; come and buy.
If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer: There,
Where my Julia’s lips do smile;
There’s the land, or cherry-isle,
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow.

Robert Herrick was born in 1591 in London and became a poet and an Anglican priest. He wrote more than 2,500 poems, and although he never married, much of his earlier work is centred on love and women. His poetry often refers to the fleeting nature of life and the necessity to make the most of it.

One of his oft-quoted poems, ‘To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time,’ has the opening lines:

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.

 

More noises in the night

 

More noises in the night

In February, it was screaming foxes that disturbed my sleep. Last night, something else woke me at 3.00 a.m. There were three distinct cries, loud and insistent enough to alert Herschel and Jellicoe. They leapt off the bed and assumed position on the windowsill, prising open the wooden shutters to try and see what was happening.

The first and loudest was the clattering call of a magpie. This is often an alarm call, frequently heard in daylight hours, but uncommon in the wee small hours. It continued for around fifteen minutes.

 At the same time, a female tawny owl was calling persistently, a soft ‘kee-wick,’ but there was no corresponding ‘hoo-hoo’ from a male, so she was clearly not inviting a mate.

 A third higher-pitched sound created a counterpoint to the first two sounds. In musical notation, the score (ahem!) would have appeared as an ostinato bass clef A, a repeated middle C ‘kee-wick,’ and a high C exclamation.

I think the quick high C may have been a cry for help from an unfortunate rodent. This cry is an attempt to make the predator desist, or to warn others of imminent danger. It is not often successful.

I wondered, though, if Mrs Owl was attempting to procure a magpie fledgling snack, and that was why the adult was rattling so vigorously. I also wondered if there was more than one owl marauding, and that was the reason for so many high-pitched squeaks.

After twenty minutes, peace was restored, the cats abandoned their vigil and returned to my legs, and night-time slumber claimed us all once more.

Naturally, Barry and the dogs slept through it all.

There was no evidence in the garden this morning of any murder, but then there rarely is.

 

A white feather

 

A white feather

We have many birds, large and small, flying over our garden, or settling onto branches to pick off insects or developing fruit. Sometimes we find a broken eggshell on the ground, but we have rarely seen a dead bird, apart from a starling that had been caught by a sparrowhawk and another starling that had flown into the patio doors and killed itself.

Similarly, we do not often see feathers, and those we have found have come from wood pigeons or magpies. I found the feather above on the path this week. It’s small, only 5 cms (just under 2")     

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I was interested in looking at the intricate structure of the feather. I knew of the quill, of course, but didn’t know the names of any of the other parts. I don’t think the quill of this feather could be used for writing by anyone other than a fairy.

During the First World War (1914-1918) men in Britain who had not enlisted were given a white feather to imply cowardice. This was in an attempt to make them sign up through shame rather than patriotism. Shockingly, from the perspective of the 21^st century, the suffragette movement promoted the white feather movement.

Serving soldiers sometimes found themselves being presented with a white feather when they were home on leave. Other men, who had volunteered but been rejected on grounds of ill-health or disability, were similarly discriminated against.

A white feather to denote lack of bravery originated in the late 1700s, though in that case it was more to indicate a lack of proper breeding,

From Wikipedia: 

The OED cites A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (1785), in which lexicographer Francis Grose wrote "White feather, he has a white feather, he is a coward, an allusion to a game cock, where having a white feather, is a proof he is not of the true game breed". This was in the context of cockfighting, a common entertainment in Georgian England.

The white feather was used again in the Second World War (1939-1945) for the same purpose.

However, the white feather has also been used to symbolise excellence, and is used in the United States armed forces to recognise extreme bravery.

It is also worn as a mark of resistance without violence. In the late nineteenth century, it was used by the Maori spiritual leader, Te Whiti o Rongomai III (c1832-1907)

There is an unverified story from 1775 that a tribe of warring Indians confronted a group of Quakers, in a New York Friends’ meeting house. The Quakers did not attempt to run away, but sat quietly. When the Indian chief entered the meeting and discovered that the Quakers had no weapons, he claimed them as friends. As he left, he took a white feather from an arrow in his quiver and put it on the door as a sign that the building and its occupants were not to be harmed.

Gilbert the Good - proper swimming

Gilbert the Good - proper swimming  

The other day I thought I’d help the humans with putting the shopping away. They didn’t seem to think that my bed was the right place to put the mackerel pâté. I dunno, I suppose they’re right - it would be too warm. I was really careful carrying it, though, but then we Labradors are known for having soft mouths.

Roxy and I aren’t having brazils regularly any more – too fatty, apparently. It makes sense – if the humans only have three a day, one a day for us dogs is too much. We still have our carrots every day and celery some days and I’ve discovered I almost like lamb’s lettuce, but Roxy doesn’t.

Arthur came to play when Susannah had to go to London. It was all nice and quiet until Jellicoe came in with a baby magpie in his mouth. The humans tried to get it away from him but he wouldn’t let go so they had to shut him outside and leave him to it. We all tried to help but it was no good. Poor magpie! I think it died of fright. I dunno why Jellicoe wanted it – he didn’t eat it or anything. He just walked away and left it on the ground. It’s a good thing we dogs are bigger than him or he’d hunt us down, too. 

 Barry’s got a new harness arrangement thing that means Roxy and I can both be attached to him at the same time.

 It takes quite a long time for him to get into it. Janice wonders if he could attach a parachute to it. 

Anyway, the weather has been beautiful lately and we’ve been having wonderful walks in the woods. 

Roxy and I really like it when we go to the ponds. We went to the big pond the other day, where Roxy first learnt to swim. We did some proper swimming - no paws touching the bottom. It was exciting! 

The humans said when Roxy was young she always used to hold her head up high when she swam, as if she didn’t want to get her hair wet. 

 I nearly managed to get the stick away from Roxy . . .

  We were still quite damp when we got home but we soon dried off on the furniture. It's so  kind of Janice to put clean covers on the chairs for us.

We're  going out in a few minutes, so I've got Barry's shoe for him. I'm a very helpful chap.*

*Janice says: It's the wrong shoe, but we won't tell him that. We don't want to hurt his feelings.

*Janice says: These are the boots he needed.

A to Z challenge 2023 – M is for . . .

 

A to Z challenge 2023 – M is for . . .

My theme for this challenge is Nature in all much of her wonderful diversity. My posts will reflect the fact that I am resident in the south of England.

All photographs in this post are the property of the writer.

Magpie (Pica pica)

Although it may be described as a black and white bird, the magpie displays other glossy iridescent colours of purple, green and blue on its wings and tail. 

The long tail amounts to half the entire length of the bird, except for young magpies, which have short tails. Juveniles also look rather washed-out, with their white parts looking quite grubby.

Juvenile.

For some reason Rudyard Kipling's poem came to mind, or, rather, the refrain:

'Boots-boots-boots-boots-movin’ up and down again!'

There are several collective nouns for magpies – conventicle, gulp, mischief, tidings or tribe. I like the alliteration of ‘mischief of magpies’.

A mischief of magpies will frequently gather in spring to decide territorial rights and social hierarchy. This is important because magpies do not stray far from the areas in which they hatch.

There are those boots again!

Magpies often pair for life, and when preparing to breed, male and female build a large, untidy nest from branches and twigs and line it with mud and leafy material. Both parents feed the young.

I suggest that most of us know the nursery rhyme about magpies, which counts to seven, but the longest rhyme is local to Lancashire.

One for sorrow, two for joy,

Three for a girl, four for a boy,

Five for silver, six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.

Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health, twelve for wealth,

Thirteen beware, it’s the devil himself.

 

Mint moth (Pyrausta aurata)

The caterpillars of this tiny pretty moth feed on herbs like mint, thyme and marjoram and this is where adults are likely to be found resting during the day when they are not flying. The moths also fly at night.

The mint moth is sometimes called the small purple and gold and can be seen on the wing from April to September, and occasionally a month either side.

It occurs patchily across England, Wales, southern Scotland and the Inner Hebrides. Sunny summer days are the best times to try and spot them.

Moss

I know very little about moss, but a closer look reveals a miniature world of wonder.

Sparrowhawk!

I was reading Joshua’s post at ‘Vive le Nerd’ wherein he commented on the Rough-legged Hawk he had seen in his garden. It reminded me that I had seen a Sparrowhawk (Accipiter nisus) just before Christmas.

From the corner of my eye I saw a bird fly into the holly tree and watched to see if I could identify it when it emerged. I was excited to see it was a Sparrowhawk. Pleasingly it flew to the top of the nearest arch and posed obligingly for me. I had to photograph it through the (grubby) patio door and managed to get five shots before it took flight.

I rarely see Sparrowhawks. I hear them more often or find the pitiful evidence of their depredations in the garden. It’s not their fault that their diet consists almost exclusively of birds. 

Mainly they eat small birds – 120 different species have been recorded. The smaller males catch birds from titmice up to birds the size of thrushes but the much larger females will prey on birds as large as wood pigeons and magpies. Some have been known to catch bats.

Very rarely they eat insects.

This time the Sparrowhawk went hungry. I’m almost sure it was a male.

blue's coloured thursdays - black

This colour-linked meme is challenging and fun. Thank you to the organiser! To see more for this week's blacks please click here.

A tapestry of Toucans, made by my late mother

A Jackdaw stamping about on the bird table

A Magpie about to land on the bird feeder

Another Magpie enjoying the fat cake

 Crows visit the feeders too . . .

. . . and so do Blackbirds . . .

. . . and Great Spotted Woodpeckers . . .

. . . but the Labradors prefer different treats!

The Killing Field

Warning: this post is not suitable for those of a sensitive disposition. Indeed, I'm finding it quite difficult to compose between shudders!
Our garden is full of life and busyness, most of which we welcome, though some visitors are less than pleasing -hornets, slugs and aphids to name just a few. We're happy to see yellow-necked mice and field mice but sadly we are unlikely to encounter them at the moment for they are prey to rats. The annual rat fest has begun! Barry has shot half a dozen in the last few days but still they come, scurrying along with great purpose, anxious to reach the food so generously scattered by the throngs of birds. There is a good deal of plant cover in the garden and the first indication that a rat or two are in the vicinity is a shaking and a shivering of leaves far too noticeable to be caused by any bird. To begin with, they are wary but soon hunger or greed overcomes them and out they bounce to partake of the feast.
Last year we were puzzled because the corpses disappeared (How now! a rat?) and then we saw a crow tucking into a small body (A rat a day) and voilà the mystery was solved or so we thought.
Yesterday Barry shot another one and its remains disappeared overnight. We didn't hear the creaking of wheels as a cart was trundled through the garden with a man ringing a bell and intoning, 'Bring out your dead' so assumed a crow had helped himself – or herself, they're not choosy. Yet another little life came to an end this afternoon (or was it morning? I've been up such a long time that it feels like bed-time and it's only 4:45 – not even time for tea let alone supper!) There were actually two rats out feeding, of differing sizes, rather worryingly, so obviously from different litters. We haven't seen the mamas and the papas and the full-grown siblings but Barry didn't take kindly to my suggestion that a little night shooting might be in order! He dispatched one and then went out to ensure it was completely dead, firing a few more rounds into it to make absolutely sure. The tiny carcase was well hidden under the dock leaves that grow so willingly to complement the nettles and yet a short while later it was revealed in all its gory glory. Neither of us had moved it and the dogs – fortunately – ignore such horrors. 'It was a crow,' we confidently told each other. Not so! About an hour after this I spotted a magpie having a royal banquet. He – or she – was feeding to allay hunger, not to collect titbits to take to a youngster.

See how it's holding its meal down - just in case it should run off?

There are young magpies around – they are easily recognised by their shorter tails – but this magpie was not feeling magnanimous to its offspring. I suppose we were right in a sense, as magpies are corvids just like carrion crows. So you see, we feed a rich and varied diet to the birds that visit us, sometimes unintentionally, in the matter of herons and sparrowhawks. I wondered idly if the red kite that soars overhead most days might deign to come and dine in our little plot but I think its five-foot wingspan might make it difficult for it to land where the once-upon-a-time rat is lying. I live in the hope of being proved wrong!

Monochrome Weekly - Magpie

Magpies are great favourites of mine - cocky, intelligent, noisy and very handsome. They wrongly get the blame for reducing the songbird population - they certainly will take eggs and fledglings but so will Great Spotted Woodpeckers and Crows (and rats! and foxes!)

To see some really good Monochrome photographs please click here.

Thank you to Aileni for organising this meme.