Midwinter Blues...

You’d be forgiven for thinking this to be a reference to my mood or the national mood given these shockingly non-sacred times we live in. It is, however, a reference to today’s beautiful blue sky. It’s mid-winter, more or less and the sky is blue. Beautifully blue. A blue sky on a crisp winter’s day is one of nature’s gifts. Where did the connection between blue and sadness come from? Having the blues. It’s odd. Grey is a far more depressing colour. Why don’t we have the greys? I suppose it just feels wrong. In 1983, on David Bowie’s Let’s Dance record, he sang “put on your red shoes and dance the blues”. I remember singing “put on your blue shoes and dance the reds”, for fun and larks. That doesn’t work either. The sad imagery and allegory of blue works even though it’s one of the most beautiful and uplifting colours. Maybe it’s just a paradox?

Back to the sky. The power of such things as a beautiful blue sky is underestimated. It brings out the colour in everything else, unlike grey which dulls everything. Trees in their bare winter state appear more regal, birds seem more colourful. Even dead frozen leaves exude a certain beauty. The stillness of the leaves contrasts with the activity in the garden. The birds are very active, they have to be, they’ll freeze and starve otherwise.

            The altruistic and self-serving (another paradox?) act of feeding the birds in winter does many things. It brings colour and life to your doorstep. It brings beauty and entertainment close to you too. It helps the birds survive and that’s important because nature is important. Without nature we won’t survive long yet we continue to mistreat it. Collectively, we all need to do our little bit, but most people don’t, sadly. Last weekend a song thrush came to the garden. This was most pleasing. Song thrushes have a lovely song in spring and summer and even autumn and are a sign of a healthy garden. Sadly, they have suffered from peoples’ use of pesticides in their gardens; which kills their favourite food, snails. I eat snails two or three times a year (only in France) but I have a choice. Sterilising our gardens like we have the countryside will ultimately come back to trouble us so let’s be aware of such things.

            In my pesticide-free though admittedly slightly scruffy garden there are plenty of birds. Tits; of the great, blue, coal and even long-tailed variety. Blue tits remain my favourite; beautiful, cheeky and clever. Rare in birds as it is in humans. Blackbirds, robins, dunnocks – a small brown ground feeder, easily overlooked but I like them - the odd little wren, so tiny. Collared doves, charming and dignified unlike their boisterous larger cousins - the woodpigeons - and always in a pair which is rather romantic. The city crows; magpies and jays – the most beautiful crow yet with the most coruscating call. It is a feast for the eyes with its pink, grey and blue plumage but an abomination to the ears. The only noise that is worse is foxes screaming at night. Goldfinches with their delightful colour co-ordination of red, white and gold.  The redwing has gone, presumably back to his colleagues, but hopefully will return and I haven’t given up hope that a fieldfare – a large winter thrush with striking plumage on its breast - may appear if the weather gets even colder.

            I’ve been feeding birds for over thirty years. It wasn’t cool then and it isn’t cool now, I’m delighted to say. We’re too obsessed and influenced in the UK by what is perceived to be cool. Make up your own mind. And get a bird-feeder. Put it outside your window or in your garden. I recommend it.  Makes you a slightly better person, slightly more rounded, slightly less of a conard, as the French say. You should do it. It may not stop you getting the blues from time to time but might make you appreciate blue a bit more, especially on days like today.