Welcome,
Sorry about the title.
Have any of you heard of Gilbert White? Probably not and that's a pity. He
was a late 18th century man of letters. A reverend, a poet and also a blogger, of
a sort. But unlike most bloggers, he came up with something useful.
His main work, The Nature and Antiquities of Selbourne is, in essence, a
nature diary, through letters and observations of nature's cycle that remains
the definitive example of a nature notebook, par excellence. I
discovered him, as a teenager through reading the monthly nature report in the
BBC wildlife magazine. It was an article which spoke of the things likely to
happen that month in the world of nature and often used quotations by White,
printed in wistful prose, on the page, very much in the writing style of the
period in which he lived. I've often been very grateful of the sanctuary that a
love of nature and wildlife has given me and it's partly thanks to Mr. White.
Even today, centuries later, his text and prose has a vibrant yet gentle effect
on the soul, if nature and it's ever changing moods is of interest to you, at
least. If it's not maybe you should give it a go. The world he describes feels
near yet distant at the same time.
Modern ecological, charitable and environmental movements owe much to
Gilbert White.
I've long fancied doing my own little nature diary and until now those
thoughts have remained in my head, which is a shame, for me at least, but
wandering through Alexandra park the other day, a sight drew me in, as it
surely would have my spiritual friend, Gilbert White. So what was it? It was
Redwings. What are Redwings, you may ask? They're a bird, of course. A thrush
actually, that visit these shores in winter. A smallish thrush that travels in
flocks, it doesn't really have a red wing, more red under its wing and it's
usually the creamy stripe above its eye that you're likely to notice. As I
walked along I spotted a couple feeding on the ground, under a tree, looking
for worms, no doubt, then another then another. I'd guess there were around 30
or so, which was nice to see. They have visited my garden from time to time
this winter, though in fewer numbers and I've always liked them. They represent
the seasons changing; they can be heard in late autumn, at night, their
high-pitched call on still clear evenings revealing their arrival from the
continent and indicating winter's imminent arrival and they'll be gone again in
a couple of months from now, indicating spring and summers' inevitable if not
imminent arrival. They have a gentle vibe. Not all thrushes can claim
this.
Mistle Thrushes, large and quite noisy, for example, are capable of
psychotic behavior. I first time I saw this was thirty years ago, on a
snowy day, from my bedroom window watching a pair of them repeatedly dive bomb
a magpie. I watched the same thrush, another time, dive bombing a cat which,
terrorized, came running through the close at about fifty miles an hour and
dashed into the street. I still laugh about that one, cruel as that is.
Anyway, back to winter and thrushes; even more exciting, was a couple of
fieldfares in our garden, the following day to my seeing the redwings. So what?
Well, a fieldfare is also a thrush. Also a winter visitor. A large and
beautiful bird, a grey head, reddish back and beautifully speckled breast, they
are more imposing than a redwing and less common so a sight is always a thrill.
There has been one who has visited the garden, I first saw him around Christmas
gorging on next door's apple tree's one remaining apple. Seeing those two the
other day, was a welcome surprise and seemed to serve as a reminder that winter
is not over and indeed since then it has become much colder.
Winter itself has been relatively benign, in London, at least but feeding
the birds as I do, ensures plenty of feathered visitors, especially when it is
cold.
More of them in my next blog.
Hope you enjoyed this, if not, I won't be offended, my late friend, Daniel
Kirkpatrick, my only birder friend, would, I'm sure have appreciated it and if
you do fancy the real thing, there's always Gilbert White.
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