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

 

A to Z challenge 2023 – O 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.

O is for Ornithology

 . . . or, more precisely, a bit of birdwatching, mostly in the garden. If nothing else, it made me go through Lightroom and categorise afresh.

We have had 32 different species in our garden. At one time, the starlings were the most prolific and certainly the noisiest, with their bickering and squabbling.

We enjoy seeing any bird that deigns to visit our garden and they all bring a measure of wonder and delight, so I can’t say that we have favourites – they are all favourites when they appear!    

Since we ceded the freedom of the garden to the cats we have stopped feeding the birds, though we have plans to situate a feeder at the top of a pole on the pond fence. We tried a window bird feeder, but it wasn’t successful. Maybe the watchful cats loudly chittering in close proximity to the window were a deterrent.

Herons have visited several times, attracted by the fish in our pond. They have occasionally feasted well, dropping what they don’t want or have finished with on the ground. They are huge birds but so wary that it is extremely difficult to photograph them. If they discern the slightest movement they fly away immediately, often with a harsh cry.

A rarer incomer has been the sparrowhawk. Again, it is a wary creature, although we did surprise one – and ourselves – one day, strolling along the garden path and chancing upon it as it tore into an unfortunate starling.

The rarest visitor has been a racing pigeon. 

 'You put your right foot in, your right foot out,

In out, in out, shake it all about . . . '

It stayed with us for several days and just as we were trying to work out how to capture it, having no experience with handling birds, it departed.

 Whether it reached its Scottish home loft we never did discover. I hope it did – it was so beautiful, in the gleaming good health that only true athletes display. 

Sharing with a juvenile starling

 

England in late May 2016

As ever the weather is variable – warm sunshine one day, heavy rain and hail the next. Despite the uncertainty Mother Nature continues unperturbed, showing off her wondrous beauties to those who care to look.

The bird feeders need constant replenishment as myriads of starlings descend, whistling and shrieking and squabbling, each trying to garner the greatest amount of food. The young starlings, milk chocolate in colour with dark eyes, clamour to be fed though they are entirely capable of feeding themselves. 

It is rare to see a solitary starling – they are social creatures and there is definitely safety in numbers though one fell foul of a magpie recently and was dispatched in masterly fashion.

Its cries were piteous to hear but all wild creatures have young to feed. The sparrowhawk, whose diet consists almost exclusively of small birds, watches from a safe distance, choosing its moment to swoop down and capture a meal.

The collared doves share the feeder with the starlings but see them off if they approach too closely. Wood pigeons balance precariously, spreading their wings to compensate for their unwieldiness. At this time of year even robins and blackbirds and thrushes come to the feeders though they prefer to eat on the ground. 

A black cap darts in and away again . . .

. . . and the titmice seize their opportunities when the starlings vacate the fat cakes. 

Magpies are opportunistic and feed where they can. They wait and watch until the pond fish are fed then fly down to enjoy an alternative feast of floating fish sticks.

Meanwhile a red kite soars gracefully overhead.

The fish have been spawning for some time and expend considerable energy trying to ensure their genes are passed on. Hopefully some of the eggs will survive and develop.

The early spring flowers are fading now – there are still a few bluebells and violets and forget-me-nots. Herb robert grows in abundance and flowers throughout spring and summer and well into autumn. It is a weed but so cheerful and pretty that it seems harsh to treat it as an unwelcome intruder and root out every sign of it.

The fruit blossom has set and it looks as if there will be a good harvest of apples, pears, cherries and blueberries, if the birds (or Frankie) don’t get to them first.

Choisya ternata (Mexican orange blossom) has bloomed beautifully and as it begins to wane the ceanothus is ready to burst into flower.

In gardens and woods rhododendrons are aflame with colour. 

Though they can be a bit of a woodland thug and have to be restrained it is good to see the purple glowing in the sunshine.

May is also the mating month for ladybirds. 

Judging by the number in our garden I’m wondering if there will be a glut of aphids this year. In similar vein I have noticed a great deal of blossom on pyracantha and holly – does this mean a hard winter ahead? I think that’s probably myth . . .

Another kind of ladybird . . . last year, 2015 . . .

 . . . and this year, 2016 . . . faded but still smiling.

Feed me!

Feed me!

May brings an explosion in the garden. Everything burgeons and each day offers fresh delights. The month becomes increasingly noisy as young birds demand that their parents feed them. The parents are on the go from just before break of day until the last vestiges of light have left the sky - they are being worn ragged by their demanding offspring. Feeding several bottomless pits is exhausting and some of the adults are beginning to look rather unkempt, their usually pin neat plumage dishevelled. There is little time to preen when there are so many mouths to feed.

It was flirting my tail like this that got me into trouble in the first place.

Me too!

I'm exhausted - no time some days even to  run a comb through my feathers . . .

. . . but at least my babies say 'Please' and 'Thank you', unlike those rude starling youngsters.

Feed me!

FEED me!!

FEED ME!!!

Say Please . . .

Feed me PLEASE - I'm starving. I'm a starving starling . . .

That's better, dear - now don't gobble.

We have seen blackbirds, goldfinches, nuthatches, coal tits, magpies, blue tits, great tits, greater spotted woodpeckers, wood pigeons, robins and a chaffinch at the feeders.  It’s very unusual to see a chaffinch – they prefer to feed on the ground. The long-tailed tits are noticeable by their absence – no doubt they’ll be along later for they must have young too. The jackdaws have been back to take food from the bird table and the local crows are vigilant and noisy when a red kite soars above their nests, looking for an easy meal.

My youngsters are hungry, too . . .

 . . . and mine  . . .

. . . mine, too . . .

Look right.

Look left.

All clear? Tuck in.

I wait till it's quiet.

Our most conspicuous visitors are the starlings. A few days ago we saw only three or four young birds but in the last couple of days the numbers have proliferated. Yesterday Barry counted forty starlings perched on the arches. They chatter and shriek from early morning until dusk. They enjoy communal feeding on the pergolas and communal bathing in the pond. Watching the harassed adults it’s difficult to ascertain whether the parents feeds their own young or whether they respond to all gaping beaks – I suspect the latter. 

Wood pigeons need food, too. Some chance with all those starlings.

I watched the plump, cheeky starling babies as they alternately preened vigorously and called vociferously. One of them was paying more attention to his plumage than his safety. Good grooming is essential for a bird but he wasn’t looking about as frequently as he should, as, indeed, the adults do. I feared for his welfare. I knew a sparrowhawk would appear on the scene sooner or later and today was the day. He swooped down from the roof and carried off a screaming youngster. Barry was startled when he walked along the garden path a few minutes later to see the sparrowhawk on the ground preparing his feast. We may deplore the depredations of the sparrowhawks but they have young to feed, too.

                         A few soft feathers are all that's left to commemorate a brief existence.

I saw a mouse - where? Not on the stair . . .

Mice - by Rose Fyleman 

I think mice
are rather nice.
Their tails are long,
Their faces small,
They haven't any
Chins at all.

Their ears are pink,
Their teeth are white.
They run around
The house at night.

They nibble things
They shouldn't touch
And no one seems
To like them much.

But I think mice
are nice.

I agree with Rose Fyleman that mice are nice though I prefer them out of the house rather than in it. 

Yesterday Barry was in the conservatory photographing birds and making short videos of them. As I watched the on-going display a movement caught the corner of my eye and there it was – a field mouse. 

We were pleased to see it because rats kill mice and its presence means that there are probably no rats in the vicinity (they’ve all travelled to London to visit Bethan and Robert)

It moved very quickly – speed is of the essence when you’re a tiny being, around 18 centimetres long from tip of nose to end of tail. The hose pipe gives some perspective. We think it was a Yellow-necked mouse (Apodemus flavicollis) but cannot be absolutely sure since it didn’t stand on its hind legs and display its chest. It didn’t stay long for its photo shoot and we were lucky to see it at all as it is largely nocturnal, the prey of owls and cats.

Meanwhile the birds carried on feeding, oblivious to the tiny mammal beneath them dining on the crumbs of fat cast off by their probing beaks. 

Most of the birds wanted to display their nether regions, the newly repainted plumage glowing to attract a mate.

Some, like this starling, with his winter spots giving way to the glorious iridescence of spring finery . . . 

 . . . appeared to spot the little mouse and wonder what it was up to. 

The female blackbird feasted on holly berries while her would-be mate gorged pyracantha.

Coal tit watched warily from the Nectarine – often chased away by blue tits, his chance would come.

 Long-tailed tits swooped and dipped their way to the feeders . . .

. . . and a great spotted woodpecker, fresh from the beauty salon, displayed her scarlet underside but forbore to show her face.