Ode to a goldcrest.

A brief visit last Saturday by Britain’s smallest bird inspired these November notes. November was cold at times, wet at times, mild more recently and often murky. Quite atmospheric really, not much sunshine unfortunately, but it was misty and murky. I like it. It’s a nice contrast from the autumnal sunshine of October and makes me think of Robert Louis Stevenson or Arthur Conan Doyle stories. November can be a forgotten month, as it’s not quite Autumn and not quite winter but this one has been reasonable, in London, at least. Autumnal colours on the trees were still strong until recently and some cold nights too. A taster of things to come, hopefully. I can’t abide mild winters, when it’s grey and windy, partly as it’s adds to my anxiety about climate change, partly as it’s just so dull. Nothing is more beautiful than a crisp winters day, except perhaps a beautiful summer’s day or a beautiful spring day etc. Nothing is more beautiful at this time of year, rather. The fact is, however, that the mild South-westerly winds which often blight my desire for something a bit more wintery are inevitable each year, due to the gulf stream’s dominance. For the cold wintery weather to occur; frost, blue skies etc., we need high pressure to block the prevailing westerly winds and drag in air from the Arctic or Siberia. There endeth the weather lesson. Much of the autumn overall has been extremely wet. If this is a sign of things to come, I’ll be disappointed.

Meanwhile, back to unexpected guests. The goldcrest, a truly tiny and delightful bird is often seen in evergreen conifer trees. One of the few birds – along with the coal tit – that was able to capitalize on these non-native forests which appeared all over Britain in the twentieth century, they are pretty common, but I rarely see them round here. Not surprisingly, it was around the lone conifer tree that I noticed it, watching it for maybe a minute before it moved off. I had, in fact, been distracted by another spectacle; that of the blue, great and coal tits taking turns at helping themselves to seeds from the feeder with kamikaze-like abandon. Seemingly unaware that there are three ports from which they can all collectively take seeds, one arrival would quickly be chased off by the next, barely managing to grasp a seed before being divebombed by another. This is perhaps an explanation for the coal tit doing something that I’d never seen before. Burying the seeds in the ground; a form of panic buying. To the left of this, in my peripheral vision - less than ten feet from the window - I saw something hovering in front of the evergreen conifer and at once guessed it to be a goldcrest. This isn’t boastful. The size or lack of, gave it away. Only the wren is of similar minute stature and wrens don’t hover like that. It was a thrill to see it up close for a minute or two. The thrill is in the surprise as much as anything. Like when I see the greater spotted woodpecker or a redwing visit the garden in winter, but it got me thinking. Why is the unexpected or rare visitor a bigger thrill than the regulars? Am I taking my regulars for granted? Has familiarity bred contempt? If I saw the goldcrest every day, of course, the reaction would be different. I don’t think I do take the regulars for granted, but it reminded me to be grateful for them. The blackbirds, the robin, the dunnock and so on. If they weren’t there the garden would be a lot lonelier. Nature, once again, serves up life lessons.

I don’t consider myself a bird-spotter, maybe an aficionado but more just a friend. I see the birds as my friends and I’m grateful for them. The attitude of gratitude is a very powerful emotion. Feeding birds is a bit of work, not too much, but a bit. Like anything, once it becomes a habit, then you’ll do it without thinking. Access to nature has perhaps never been more important to us city dwellers, surrounded as we are by pollution, noise, electricity, mobile phones and so on. Non-organic things - in the biochemical sense – which are corrosive to our bodies and minds. You may not have a garden, but everyone has access to nature in some form. A balcony, a window ledge even. Stick a bird feeder on your window. That’s how I started over thirty years ago. Cherish nature, cultivate it, help it. It's reciprocal. In feeding the birds and cultivating your garden, literal or otherwise, you'll feed your own soul.