The weather is so dramatically changeable that you’ll look a fool whatever attire you choose. I went for ‘sweaty fool’ in a big coat as the sun dashes in and out of dark clouds. My hat is on, off, on, off and my thumb flies over the exposure wheel on my camera as I try to keep track of the lighting.

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For one charming little diving duck, the Tufted Duck, it doesn’t matter how you set your exposure. They are half brilliant, dazzling white and half deep, dark black with a green and purple sheen. Some of their beauty is always lost in the transition from the wild to the screen.

The Red Kites, however, look radiant in the sun. This is, I believe, the male. Smaller than the female, he is gathering nesting materials for their enormous, messy nest that is probably constructed from a combination of these sticks and plastic rubbish.

This framing of this female Gadwall catches my eye; so pretty and dainty opposite the Mute Swan that comes over to ‘see me off’ from the water’s edge.

I capture my first Chiffchaff photo of the year; this little one is saying ‘dweep, dweep’ to itself as it works the trees for insects. When it breaks into song, it gets its chiffs and chaffs all muddled up – no wonder they seem to spend most of the year incessantly practising the notes.

Out in the field, these Crows look suspicious. They’re watching as another Crow dismantles something a few metres away… or so I thought.

But there is a reason they are keeping a healthy distance, which soon becomes clear when the ‘Crow’ raises its head. That enormous heavy bill is a dead giveaway – the Crow is in fact a Raven.

Not long ago, a Raven would have been a very rare sight in my area. Now, they are making up for lost time and appearing in any open, wild landscape they can find. I love hearing their hoarse ‘kronk-onk-onk’ overhead.

Another ominous sound has returned to the skies - bees! I have encountered a few trees in pollen that are positively buzzing, audible from a few metres away. My face has had more than one close encounter with a haphazard bumblebee this week.

Having processed these photos and found myself wanting more, let’s head to Fowlmere. It’s a misty morning so my hopes aren’t high, but we can always pretend we only wanted a nice walk anyway – birds are a bonus.

One of the stars is not a bird, however, but a big Brown Hare.

If male, he will be feeding up in preparation for boxing season. They are powerful creatures, capable of running at almost 45mph (>70km/h). Also thinking about courtship, the Muntjac pair look pretty cosy. The male has his tongue out, attempting to detect the pheromones that will tell him the female is in heat.

If, like me, you’ve ever wondered where their name comes from, it’s a latinised form of the Dutch muntjak, which is borrowed from Sundanese mencek, and unsurprisingly just means ‘little deer’.

I hate to end on a rubbish photo, so before I get to the end let me share this most unlikely of geese. Two circuits of the reserve in, it’s time to go home without a hint of the supposed Russian White-Fronted Goose in with the Greylag.

As I drove up the track towards to exit, one last gaggle of Greylags is resting in the field. I pause to check them for imposters and just before I pull away, defeated, this one wakes up to poke its telltale beak out for a moment. Not just a visiting rarity for the area, but a lifer for me.

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Lastly, another cosy couple: pair of Little Grebes. If you aren’t already familiar with their call, I recommend googling it and playing it loud, in a public place, without explaining yourself. (Let me know how that goes.)

Thank you for joining me on these walks. Fingers crossed for a little bit more sunshine next time around! I’d love to hear what you’ve spotted over the past few weeks – has the change of seasons brought you anything new and exciting?

Gem

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The soundscape for this week’s walk still features the weak ‘seep seep’ of wintering Redwings, and the ‘pew pew’ of Siskins. But they are almost drowned out by springtime songs – most notably from our resident thrushes, Song, Mistle and Blackbird. Their warbles, trills and melodies immerse you in all the shenanigans that spring courtships bring as soon as you step outside.

And the first warbler song of the year came from this extremely loud Blackcap.

Robins and Great Tits also join the cacophony, and the lilting chatter of Goldfinches can be heard in the quieter moments. But not all the birds are ‘singing’ – there’s the loud drumming of Great Spotted Woodpeckers on dead trees, the repetitive shriek of a female Kestrel chasing Crows from its chosen nest site, even the occasional daytime ‘hooooo’ from a Tawny Owl deep in the woods.

There’s a feast for the eyes, too: tiny, tightly balled pink buds adorn the fruit trees, some with the first feathery hint of petals starting to peek out. Brimstone and Peacock Butterflies have started to appear, drifting along the flayed hedgerows that have not yet burst into leaf and blossom.

It even smells different outside now. Air that smelled of damp greys and browns has the vibrant odour of wet greens.

I am grateful for this abundance of distractions from words like cancer and prognosis. But they can’t distract me from the absence of my dad at my side, especially when I visit Fowlmere – one of our favourite local birding spots.

As I walk, I make a mental note of all the things to tell Dad about – like this very round Goldcrest that allowed me to take its photo.

And around a year ago, when I made my first foray onto Substack, it was one of Fowlmere’s most popular residents that I featured: the Marsh Harrier. This year, the pair have returned, although I saw no sign of the male myself.

As recently as the 1970s, there was only one breeding pair of this magnificent bird left in the UK. Now, there are over 700 pairs and while most migrate to Africa in the autumn, some now spend winter here too.

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Our female has been absent, but she has returned a month earlier than predicted – I wonder if she only migrated to the south of the country, or Europe, rather than further afield.

She seemed to be checking out various nest sites, dropping into the reads with her long, yellow legs extended below her.

As she swoops low before such a landing, the nearby waterfowl set off a chain of alarm calls, giving an indication of why the name harrier (from the verb ‘to harry’) was chosen.

The Greylags, however, didn’t feel particularly harried by her as she sat in the reeds.

She didn’t appear to have hunting on her mind today, though she did fly past this male Sparrowhawk in an apparent display of displeasure. He roundly ignored her.

The ducks have the most immaculate plumage at this time of year, as do the brightly coloured finches. Even this Moorhen looked particularly dashing, with its blue-black chest and red-black wings.

There has been work done to remove reeds at the reserve, opening out the space in front of the Drewer hide; my dad and I call it 'the boring hide’ when we forget its name. It’s not, really, as it’s the best spot to see the Kingfisher, and I once watched four Little Grebes foraging just a couple of metres in front of the hide.

But the Greylags used to nest in the reeds under a small tree here, and the reeds have now been removed, exposing the nest site. It’s not clear if they’re going to nest there anyway, but they seemed to be checking out nearby alternatives.

In wooded areas, it’s a great time to look out for a very special little fungus, the Scarlet elf Cup. At first sight, they look like someone has dropped some tiny plastic litter. They’re very small – around 1cm across – and often grow on decaying sticks, hidden away just under the leaf litter.

And of course, it’s Primrose season. These jaunty little flowers love to cling to mossy drystone walls in the parts of the country lucky enough to have them.

I’m hoping that my dad will be out of hospital and we’ll be back at the boring hide before long. I hear the Little Grebes are around, and their trilling, wailing cry is quite something.

I’d love to hear about your springtime sightings – let me know what you’ve seen! Just yesterday, I heard my first Chiffchaff of the year, have you?

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My favourite sign that things are changing is the development of colour on the Black-Headed Gulls’ heads. In a few individuals below, you can see it starting to com through.

The countryside is alive with noise – this is a fantastic time to go out and get to know some of our common species and the calls they make.

The soundtrack still features winter finches and thrushes: the ‘pew-pew!’ of Siskins, the chatter of Redpolls and the weird ‘chuck-chuck’ of Fieldfares.

But there’s a cacophony of spring sounds, too, as our year-round resident birds plan ahead to breeding season: ‘teee-cha, teee-cha’ from Great Tits and melodic songs from Robins that seem to be dotted around every few metres or so.

Song Thrushs’ loud, varied tunes are delivered from a high position, usually in a large tree, and interspersed with impressions of other birds. I heard one confidently mimic a Green Woodpecker, a Buzzard and a car alarm in rapid succession.

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Pairs of Blue Tits are busily checking out potential nest sites, and the Stock Doves are doing their low, rumbling roar once more.

While squirrels can breed year-round here, they must have it on their mind at the moment as six of them (five grey, one black) seem to be endlessly chasing each other along the garden fence and through the tall trees behind our garden.

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Almost as fast as those trees grow new buds, a small group of Chaffinches strip them from the branches and eat them. The sticky sap seems to annoy them, so they regularly wipe their beaks on a branch like a chef sharpening their knife on a steel.

The local woods are a gathering point for Redwings and Fieldfares as they prepare to migrate back to Scandinavia, Eastern Europe and Russia. They don’t usually leave until March-ish, but seem to be gathering earlier than usual this year – I’m holding out hope that they know we’re in for a pleasant summer!

Despite their recent decline, there are still a few Blackbirds to be found. They seem to become shyer in the winter, perhaps taking the lead of their skittish visiting cousins.

I’m hoping to photograph some ducks before I next write, because they are coming into their breeding plumage and there’s nothing quite as spectacular. Even black feathers feature flashes of iridescent green and purple when they catch the light.

Thanks for joining me again. What have you seen this week? I’d love to hear about it.

Gem

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I’d heard the flock of Greylags at one of my usual patches was harbouring some rare visiting geese. Russian White-Fronted Geese and Tundra Bean Geese, both of which would be lifers for me.

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I arrived just as the Coots finished their morning meeting and scattered across the ice. The frozen water had forced the Greylags much closer to shore than usual – perfect.

Unfortunately, they were doing what geese do best: sleeping. And both of the rare geese look very similar to Greylags (of which there were about 400) when their heads aren’t showing. So I scanned the flock for any birds that looked smaller, darker or otherwise ‘different’ and then moved on.

Out on the frozen water, an assortment of gulls stood looking displeased. Lots of Black-Headed Gulls, with their little black ‘spots’ of feathers behind the eyes – all that remains of summer’s black head plumage. And the odd Lesser Black-Backed Gull, always standing alone.

And then this one flew past - it’s between the size of the two other gulls, and has a mid-tone grey back, too. The legs and bill are grey-yellow. And it’s got a decidedly ‘cute’ look, for a gull!

It’s my absolute favourite: the Common Gull. A total misnomer, too, as it’s not common at all this far inland. Unlike the many, many Cormorants that flew back and forth between the two fishing lakes.

The rest of the walk was uneventful, but I do like to keep the Merlin app running and glance at it to see if it’s heard any species I haven’t. This time, a bird’s name appeared without the little ‘tick’ next to it that shows I have recorded it on my life list. A Firecrest!

I hung around, peering into bushes and looking for a small, round bird foraging among the ivy, but no luck. They often stick around, though, so I’ll be back soon.

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I also went to Fowlmere with my Dad for a frosty walk, but the low-hung sun dazzled us most of the way round. We did manage to find a Treecreeper, and stood enthralled as it inspected every nook and cranny on each branch.

If you look very closely at the photo below, you can see a small white grub, presumably clinging on for dear life, in the Treecreeper’s beak.

We finally tore ourselves away to sit insistently in a hide – we were up early and it was freezing, surely we would be rewarded? The hide faced directly into the glare of the morning sun, but it seemed to sear our eyes much faster than it warmed our fingers.

Dad finally noticed some movement – this pair of elegant Fallow Deer – but the sound of our shutters sent them scarpering into an almost invisible tunnel in the reeds.

And with that, we gave up and headed home. I love this time of year, starting a new ‘year list’ of birds. All of a sudden, even Wood Pigeons are exciting again! Hopefully I’ll be back next time with a Firecrest and some fancy geese to share, but if not I’ve no doubt our more obliging species will do the job.

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In the meantime, let me know what you’ve seen, heard, photographed or painted! I love hear what wildlife’s up to wherever you are in the world.

Gem

P.S. Thanks for joining me again this year. Substack was the highlight of a very challenging year last year and I appreciate every comment, like, subscription and tip more than I can put into words. Here’s to 2026!

This is due to the hordes of visitors to Fowlmere, many of them power-walking around while loudly discussing their loved ones’ personal business. They are, of course, entitled to do this. Just as I am entitled to wait until they have passed and do a little scowl to myself.

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Thankfully, the plants are as obliging as ever. I spot this Mistletoe from hundreds of metres away and it stays put as I approached.

I wonder if there’s a Flowerology post about it and of course, there is! It goes far beyond my rudimentary knowledge that the word mistletoe comes from the Old English for ‘sh*t stick’.

The hedgerows are adorned with Hawthorn berries, rather nicely set off by the ‘Old Man’s Beard’ that catches the light. Beard, also known as Traveller’s Joy, is a climbing member of the buttercup family.

And although less attractive, the black berries of Ivy are some of the most calorie-dense food available to birds in winter, so it’s good to see them thriving among their more vibrant counterparts.

Blackcaps are here in some number. Ours head south for winter, but we get an influx of Scandinavian birds in their place. Like many other warblers, they switch from insects to berries throughout winter, so they’ve come to the right place.

The ‘skewered sausage’ flowers of Great Reedmace are looking especially glorious today, too. I admire them for a while, when I notice a flurry of activity near the ground.

The Blue Tits that used to dangle from berry bushes over pathways have retreated into the reeds, where the swaying stems keep them hidden from view.

In the trees next to the reserve, hundreds of Redwings and Fieldfares are chattering noisily to each other.

Despite being too loud to miss, they are several layers of foliage deep and incredibly hard to photograph. This is my only Fieldfare of the year.

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Every now and then, the chattering suddenly gives way to an eerie silence. I wonder what has spooked them – then spot this Sparrowhawk looking accusingly at me from the far side of the woods.

In a bid for some more of that lovely quiet, I head to the ‘boring’ hide. The Mallards are there as usual, preening and dabbling and squabbling among themselves. The odd parent comes in with a kid and says ‘Look, ducks!’ and then leaves.

I rarely see much in this hide. Around 20 years ago I saw a Turtle Dove here (my only Turtle Dove), and there have been Water Voles on the odd occasion. Neither are likely today, but it’s so tranquil so I stay a while.

And today, of course, is the day that one of our loudest yet most illusive warblers decides to show up. Unannounced by it’s usual explosive call, it hops into view maybe 4m away. A lovely little Cetti’s Warbler.

An almost perfect circle! This is almost as surprising as the out-of-season Reed Warbler I spotted last week. It shouldn’t be, as Cetti’s Warblers do spend winter here. But they’re so damn hard to spot!

While Cetti’s are only seen if they allow themselves to be seen, Grey Herons stand at over 1m tall and have a 2m wingspan. This one was, I’m sure, trying to sneak away unseen. ‘Trying’.

At this point, the sound of engines running told me that the carpark was full and someone who would enjoy themselves even surrounded by other people would probably appreciate my parking space. I was happy to oblige!

A quick snap of this little one – a Wren – and that’s it for me at Fowlmere in 2025.

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While we’re here…

Thank you for reading! I turned to Substack as a creative outlet after I was made redundant in March and it’s just been the loveliest experience. I’m enjoying sharing my imperfect photography and artwork and I’m constantly inspired by everything I see here. Thank you for every read, like, comment and restack. Have a wonderful turn of the year… see you in 2026!

Gem

Dark days call for a splash of colour, and the Yellowhammer delivers. These finches never cease to stun me as they emerge from the margins of arable fields, showing off the white feathers at the side of their tails.

The RSPB tells me this is a sight to be savoured: “Populations plummeted by 61% between 1967 and 2020 due to a lack of food and nesting habitat, earning themselves a place on the Red List”.

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Yellowhammers have one of my favourite calls. Often described as singing “A little bit of bread and no cheese”, I always think they sound more like a jug being emptied and then refilled from a tap: an ascending “Glug, glug, glug” followed by a descending “wheeeee”.

My next encounter came as I was hiding in a small woodland, looking for our winter thrushes – Redwings and Fieldfares – which I have yet to photograph to any acceptable standard. A small bird with scythe-shaped wings suddenly rushed onto the scene, high overhead, being mobbed by other birds.

My first instinct was that it was one of our smaller waders, but why would anything mob one of those?

The realisation that this might be a lifer slowly dawned on me.

I pointed my camera straight up and tried to track the bird, losing focus on it twice. The bird’s rapid dash across the narrow opening in the trees would not allow me a third mistake.

Thankfully, luck smiled on me and I captured a few shots: it’s a Merlin. A female Merlin with a very full crop, to be precise.

This is our smallest falcon, which only visits Bedfordshire during winter months. You can read the fuss a previous Merlin at this location caused in this Country Diaries post in the Guardian.

I had to confirm my photos were indeed a Merlin (thank you kindly, ) before I got too excited, because there are two female Kestrels in the area, and as you’ll see below the similarities are striking. It can be hard to trust your instincts when the bird in question is a lifer.

Note the differences between the birds in these photos aren’t the best way to tell them apart – the Merlin, above, does have a dark banded tail, it’s just not visible here. And the Kestrel, below, often has a dark ‘tear drop’ marking, like the Merlin; it’s just very faint on this individual.

Aside from the size, I ruled out a Kestrel because of the long, narrow wings and the short, almost squared tail.

The Merlin appears to have timed her arrival well. A flock of around 50 little streaky finches adorned the Alder trees like Christmas baubles. Redpolls – another winter visitor – have gathered in larger numbers than usual.

Every now and then, a gust of wind would take them fluttering into the air as one, like a sudden drift of leaves, and they would settle at the water’s edge for a quick drink.

These extremely charming little birds are very messy eaters, often ruining a perfectly nice photo by having their beaks and faces covered with seed residue.

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The Datura I wrote about in a previous note has gone to seed, so this fascinating plant looks like it’s here for the foreseeable. I haven’t seen any wildlife eating it, which may be just as well given some of its properties.

And there is still one more lifer to mention – this time, it’s a fungus. I felt sure it would be named Stagshorn due to its shape, but apparently this is Candlesnuff.

And it’s doing what Candlesnuff does best – devouring dead wood. Some of the compounds in this fungus have shown anti-cancer properties in the lab, but it is not edible (in case you were considering it).

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And I can’t help but add this photo of a female Kestrel, perched and regarding me with suspicion. This is not the same Kestrel as the one in the photo earlier – you can see this one’s prominent teardrop marking.

Things are going to change around here…

My new(ish) job involves a lot of writing. I have also just received my ADHD diagnosis. So, I’m taking the pressure off – I’d love this to be a weekly newsletter, but that isn’t sustainable for me 100% of the time.

I won’t dwell on it any more, as I’ve already banged on a bit about missed weeks quite a lot. The words come when they come. I hope you’ll stick around and enjoy them.

Thanks, as always, for joining me on this walk. I’d love to know what you’ve seen out and about this month – have you had any winter visitors to your patch?

Gem

Broom Gravel Pits is still owned by a tarmac company, but the wildlife doesn’t care about trespassing. This spot is a haven for waders and waterfowl despite being further from the sea than almost any other body of water in the UK.

The Little Grebe, above and below, seems to have found a Crayfish in the flooded quarry. They created quite the commotion, chasing each other around in wide arcs.

After a while, the chasing adult gave up and let the juvenile enjoy his catch. I continued along a winding footpath, crunchy with golden leaves. Today is uncharacteristically quiet.

Until, that is, you approach the main section of water. Here, hundreds of Greylag Geese have gathered, alongside gulls, ducks and around 50 Lapwings.

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The only bird ‘song’ is the honk-onk-onk as the geese come in to land, and the occasional warbling wail from a Little Grebe.

But before long, Gadwalls join in with a peeping alarm call. The Black-Headed Gulls add their crying screams and a couple of Lapwings take to the wing with hysterical peeee-eeeee calls… something has spooked them.

The hysteria spreads and soon all the smaller birds take to the air in a flurry of whooshing wings. The sound of a hundred goose feet splashing as they scramble to get airborne adds to the din.

A large bird of prey appears, flying purposefully over the trees. Not the lazy flap of a Red Kite or the high-up soaring of a Buzzard, but around the same (impressive) size. It’s a wandering Marsh Harrier – a female, with chocolate brown plumage and a yellow-white crown and throat.

She flies in characteristic Marshie style, big, busy flaps over the scrub at the water’s edge. Her long, black primary feathers give a finger-like appearance to the tip of her wings.

Here and there she pauses, lifting with her wings stretched upwards as her long yellow legs drop down below her. She’s looking for unsuspecting waterfowl – often Moorhen – though the crescendo of alarm calls surrounding her surely makes her task difficult.

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After several passes and no successful catches, she moved on. But eyes still skyward, there were other fearsome hunters to watch out for.

First, a Kestrel appeared on the scene like a bullet in shape and speed. The black tear-drop under her eye, the black band at the tip of the tail and that short-yet-streamlined shape tell us she’s not a Sparrowhawk.

This one is a female – larger than the male, with no blue-grey head and darker brown plumage.

As if that wasn’t enough, she shows off the Kestrel special – a perfect hover. Unlike Buzzards, who can only give the appearance of hovering by flying into a stiff wind, Kestrels can perform this trick on the stillest of days.

When she moved on, I thought the Marshie had returned. Less noise from the waterfowl, however – and a forked tail soon showed it to be a red kite.

They have a slow manner of flapping and soaring. This one is extremely large, so must also be a female. She soared over the path and tree tops, then briefly out into the open for a photo opp.

Spending most of their time scouring the ground for carrion rather than hunting for themselves (though they are certainly capable of doing so), she quickly clocks me and my camera. Disliking the obvious attention, she moves over the trees and disappears from sight.

Time to move on. With all these birds of prey around, there is unlikely to be much bird activity for a while, so it’s time to go home! Thankfully, I had left a memory card in my camera when I sent it off, so I have some rather charming photos to share from a month ago.

This Jay was posing on old farm machinery, looking decidedly like it was up to something.

We watched each other for a while. It soon realised I wasn’t going to go anywhere, so it produced the treasure it had been hiding and made off.

An acorn! No doubt destined to be hidden in some nook or cranny for consumption at a later date… if the Jay remembers its location.

I have enjoyed photographing behaviour instead of just pretty still shots this week. These birds will be with us throughout winter, so hopefully there will be plenty more shenanigans in the coming weeks!

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Thanks for reading. As ever, I’d love to know what you’ve seen this past week or so – wherever you are in the world!

Gem

You never know who might show up, so always look up when you hear that rush of wings overhead! You might just see a flock of Spoonbills.

This weird and wonderful bird flies with its legs and neck outstretched, and with that enormous beak it looks quite bizarre as it does so. They used to breed in the UK until the 17th century, and have recolonised as of around 2010.

The number of breeding pairs is still counted in tens rather than hundreds, so they are scarce but not an unusual sight in this region. So sights like the below aren’t quite as surprising to the locals as they were to me!

The visitor centre is nestled among some trees, and from there you can take a long gravel path across tidal marshes to the sea. Turning off from the path takes you past ponds to hides that look out over the fens, or to big hides over the scrapes.

Scrapes are shallow areas, often revealed or increased in size by the retreating tide. They are the perfect spot for wading birds to forage.

Take a look at the mixed group above. From left to right we have a napping Lapwing, a Black-Tailed Godwit and a Black-Headed Gull. Then in the main group we have a few Golden Plover – which gather in their hundreds here – and some sleeping Shoveler ducks.

But who is that little grey bird with the white neck right in the middle? Just hiding behind a duck in the image below.

A Ruff – sadly not in its fantastic breeding plumage (seriously worth a Google!). And there are groups of birds all over the reserve with little surprises like this one hiding among them.

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The scrubby marsh on the left of the main path almost disappears under the very highest tides. It is, therefore, topped up with invertebrates, molluscs and whatever else waders are looking for when they feed. But once it has dried out again, the land-loving regulars come back, too.

A female Reed Bunting is just about the most obliging year-round poser you’ll find. And the male follows suit.

Of course, there are Dunnocks and Linnets to be seen. Scrubby bushes near busy paths is a great place to photograph these birds. The backdrop looks ‘wild’, but the birds are used to people coming and going.

At this time of year, many of the birds that have relied on caterpillars and flying insects to feed their young are now eating seeds. They gather in mixed groups to do so, often taking off in a cloud of alarm calls before you even realise they are there.

The waders join in, with Redshanks making a beautiful piping call as they flee.

The beach has its own ‘regulars’ – Turnstones – who potter around in little groups. They can be seen clinging onto the rocks while foraging among the seaweed, even while being battered by wind, rain and waves.

And everyone’s favourite small waders: Sanderlings. They are tiny and have a real ‘cutesy’ expression. They run towards the sea as the waves draw back, then retreat up the beach as the water surges forward again.

But the most enchanting sight I saw here might surprise you… it’s a goose. Or rather, thousands upon thousands of Pink-Footed Geese, arriving here from Greenland and Iceland.

If you arrive at the reserve early, you can watch the sun rise as skeins of geese in V formation fly overhead, calling. As more geese arrive, you can’t help but feel quite small and insignificant – quite a reassuring feeling, I think.

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I have departed from my rule not to write about anywhere that costs money to access. I believe you can see all of the wildlife mentioned here at other locations nearby that are free to access, but I don’t have the local knowledge to be sure.

I am interested to hear any feedback on this decision, especially if you have any strong/negative opinions about it! I often only have a day or two in each location, so I do tend to head to the big paid-for reserves. RSPB charge £7 to access this reserve; I will refrain from focussing on some of the pricier reserves.

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That’s all for this week! Thank you so much for reading. As usual, I’d love to know what you’ve seen out and about while I was in Titchwell!

Gem

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This secretive bird is the Water Rail. You’ll find these across most of England and Wales in places that have reeds and aren’t too busy. They’re here all year, but this is a particularly good time to see them as the vegetation they usually hide in is dying back.

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Listen out for a shrieking, squealing call, but be prepared to sit and wait… very patiently. They are not easy to spot! Despite being ‘green listed’ (meaning they aren’t a concern in conservation terms), most birders consider them to be a special sight.

A new visitor to keep your eyes out for in the centre of England is this charming yellow finch, the Siskin. Buckle up, because they are utterly fascinating, so I’ve lots to say! (They also happen to be one of my favourite birds.)

This is a male – he has a black cap and bib and more defined streaking and yellow colour. Apparently, the size of the bib relates to their position with the flock hierarchy. I’ve seen some males with barely any black under their beak at all, so this one might be quite an important chap.

They do live in the South and North of England, and in Scotland and Wales, year round, but in summer they’re hard to find. There’s even an old German legend that they hide a magical stone in their nest that makes them invisible during the breeding season.

This one is feeding on the seeds in the cones of an Alder tree, one of their favourite foods. Siskin’s streaky plumage and habit of feeding very high up make them difficult to spot. But they do make a delightful ‘pew, pew!’ call as they fly about in flocks, which can alert you to their presence.

Finally, they are very unusual among birds in that they do a thing called ‘allofeeding’, where subordinate adults regurgitate food for the dominant ones – the males feed males, and the females feed females. All in all, a very unusual finch.

While it’s easy to mourn the bustling boughs of leaves we’ve grown accustomed to over the past six months, the bare branches do have their benefits. Treecreepers are small, shy and brown – hard to spot in the shade of a full canopy. Not so any more.

They’re often so absorbed in their business – the business of picking bugs out of crevices – that they don’t notice you watching them. They start at the bottom of a tree and work their way up, then fly down to the bottom of the next tree and start again.

It’s also time to consider saying goodbye to your favourite invertebrates, as they may soon disappear until next year.

This striking moth is a Red Underwing. They fly from late July to the end of September, but usually land with their red ‘underwings’ hidden. When showing, it’s thought that predators might think the red section is the whole moth. If a bird was to peck just the red section, the moth would likely survive the damage and be able to fly.

The Common Darter is one of our most common dragonflies. It prefers still water – from ponds to lakes – and can be seen until November. They aren’t territorial away from breeding areas (water), so sometimes gather in large numbers to hunt across fields.

As they hunt by ambush, you might find a suitable perch with a row of Common Darters on it, all waiting for some unsuspecting prey to pass by. That is, if a Little Egret hasn’t eaten them all…

In woodlands, migrant Goldcrests are arriving from Scandinavia and Russia to join our resident birds. At this time of year, they can be found in flocks of ‘assorted tits’. I saw several small family groups in with Long-Tailed Tits this week.

The time of their migration coincides with Woodcocks, which gave rise to the rumour that Goldcrests would catch a ride on their backs! People didn’t believe tiny Goldcrests could survive crossing the North Sea by themselves, so this was the obvious answer.

And of course, winter thrushes are due to join us over the coming weeks, too. Redwings make a thin, whining ‘seep, seep’ call, while Fieldfares are much bigger and make a kind of ‘chack-chack-chack’ call.

They’ll be gathering wherever there are berries to eat, from Dogwood trees to Hawthorn and Rowan (as in the photos).

There are some birds that manage to stay hidden despite the bare branches and lack of leaves. See if you can spot the two in this photo:

The one at the top of the heap is admittedly pretty easy if you know you’re looking for it! This is a pair of Snipe, and the second one is on the lower-left of the heap of foliage. Their cryptic colouring kept them so well hidden that a marauding Moorhen almost stood on the one at the top!

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That’s all for this week. I’d love to know what you’ve seen while I’ve been rustling around in the reeds (again!) – have any winter visitors appeared near you yet?

Gem

My beloved camera should be back in my hands in a week or two, and I’m planning to take it somewhere special to celebrate.

These beautiful highland cows were browsing and resting on the chalk hills where I went looking for the Pied Flycatcher I’ve been dreaming of seeing for years.

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My Granny – Scottish – pronounced it ‘heeland coos’, and I’ll never not say it in my head when I see them. These coos certainly attracted plenty of flies for a potential flycatcher to feast upon.

But after careful checking of photos, the five Flycatchers I spotted were all Spotted (not Pied). Still beautiful, and endlessly entertaining to watch. I can wait for my first Pied.

Elsewhere, this illusive Stoat – was taking a break from defending its reputation as a fearsome hunter. For twenty minutes, it danced and bounced and rolled on the membrane used to suppress the reeds at a local cress-bed reserve.

The Mallards and Moorhens nearby kept a very close eye on its antics, but the Stoat wasn’t thinking about food.

The same location gave me my much-longed-for first photo of a perched Kingfisher.

He’s a male – females have an orange lower ‘mandible’ (the bottom half of their beak).

You can usually tell if a bird is an adult or juvenile, because juveniles have a white tip on the very end of their beak. This bird has lost the very end of his beak, but I do suspect he’s an adult.

On the walk that saw my camera’s demise, there were gravelly paths alongside a canal, lined with Buddleja bushes.

The Buddleja blooms are magnets for butterflies like this Large White, while the Common Blues prefer to hang out in long grass where the Knapweed and Ragwort was flowering not long ago.

Overhead, the Ravens have been very vocal the past few weeks. I snapped this one while borrowing my Dad’s camera.

That diamond-shaped tail that comes to a point (though it’s less obvious in this photo) and the bulging throat are tell-tale signs that this is not a Crow. So is that bulky beak and the sheer size of the bird.

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They’re doing well in Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire, following a decade or more of increases in their populations. As a kid, I’d never have seen one of these unless I was on holiday far away. Now, they nest alongside Peregrine’s at the nearby electricity substation.

This beautiful Robin is showing off some beautiful plumage. It has come through this year’s moult and is ready for it’s role as ‘star of the festive season’ in a few months’ time.

On this week in 2023, I borrowed a macro lens to explore my garden in finer detail. These Parent Bugs were some of the most obliging subjects.

They are a type of Shield Bug, but have earned their name because all other Shield Bug species abandon their eggs to their fate without a backward glance. The female Parent Bug stays with her eggs and young, protecting them until they are full grown.

Talking of babies getting all grown up – this year’s Goldfinches are finally getting some red on their faces. Until now, they’ve been very plain (and the subject of many ID requests on Facebook bird groups!).

Over the coming weeks I’m hoping to visit a beautiful pine woodland to share here. It’s a bit of a monoculture (except for the patches of invasive Rhododendron).

But the striking orange sand and dying-back bracken against the deep green of the pine trees make for a nice change of scene. And with partridges, woodpeckers and winter finches (eventually), it can be surprisingly lively.

Until then, let me know what wildlife you’ve encountered this week. And thanks for being here!

Gem

This week, we’re crunching through the leaf litter in a small deciduous woodland. There’s a marked change in the air now, with ‘cold’ being the presumed default temperature when waking in the morning.

At the very edge of this small ancient woodland, the wild wind carries leaves and insects haphazardly along the hedge line. A glut of fallen crab apples is starting to rot, pleasantly souring the air. Wasps whizz past my head, only semi in control of their direction of travel.

Moving into the woods, the tree-line offers protection from the howling, chilling, drying wind. It’s much darker in here, but also warmer and damper. A range of new sounds can be heard: creaking old trees, crunching leaves and the alarm calls of a flock of assorted tits.

There’s the Blue Tit’s sharp ‘peep peep!’ and the Great Tit’s growly chatter, all with a backdrop of high-pitched tweeting from the Long-Tailed Tits.

Mostly, these birds remain hidden by the leaves that the trees are still clinging onto. Every now and then, one breaks cover to take advantage of a particularly tempting food source.

Sometimes, you catch an out-of-place Spring or Summer call, like the Chiffchaff’s signature song. Perhaps it’s a youngster, practicing? Or an adult declaring its territory for the winter.

I encountered an extremely strange sound in the woods this week – it sounded like a sad, slow chicken, but it was at the top of a very tall beech tree. I’d never heard anything like it, and with migration underway there’s always a chance something really odd will show up!

I paced around the bottom of the tree and cursed its thick canopy of leaves as the sad chicken mocked me with further cries. Then, a small distance away, the distinct drumming of a Great Spotted Woodpecker started up.

And the chicken answered it! Or rather, mimicked it – not by drumming, but with a throaty call that sounded remarkably similar.

At this point I felt sure I’d never find out what was making the noise, although the mimickry pointed towards some sort of corvid. As I stepped back from under the tree, ready to give up… there it was. A large, black bird perched on the top of the tree.

My mysterious misery-chicken! A Carrion Crow.

They’re weird, they’re clever and they’re SO charming. And they stick with us throughout winter, so hopefully I’ll get to know this one a bit better over the coming weeks.

As you may know from my many frenzied Notes, I broke my beloved camera. But I dug out my old Pixel 6, which has a far superior camera to my current phone. It’s not good enough for birds or mammals, but it captured an array of smaller (yet equally stunning) ancient woodland inhabitants. There is so much to see!

There are… Hornets, gathering pollen from the ivy.

Snails, balancing precariously on leaves after a downpour.

Mushrooms and toadstools pushing their caps above the leaf litter, or pouring out of dead wood.

Magical moss covers everything from waist-height downwards.

Ivy climbs and covers everything that the moss does not.

All manner of creatures are drawn to the Ivy, which produces an abundance of pollen long after the summer flowers have all faded.

Even old, dead trees that have seemingly nothing left to give are riddled with life – microbes, fungi and invertebrates slowly break down what’s left.

It’s a profound moment, seeing a 100-year old trunk turned back into dust. Dust that will nurture the saplings that will support the forest ecosystem for the next century to come.

Thank you for joining me on my wander, I hope you enjoyed it even without the usual range of birds! I was surprised how much I loved hunting for these little scenes with just an old phone to capture them.

Jasper was proud to find this (disused) Badger sett. I often wonder what he’d make of badgers (and what they’d make of his badger-face markings!). What did you see, while I was scampering in the woodland with Jasper this week?!

Gem

It’s one of the most exciting times of year for birdwatchers – Autumn migration is starting. Look to the skies in any part of the country, and who knows what you might see?

Many of our own birds are on their way South. But there are also birds from colder parts of Europe who use the UK as a handy stop to refuel on their journey. Some even stay to enjoy our relatively milder winter.

This week, I was on the beautiful North Devon coast. I headed to Fremington Quay, as it often appears on my BirdGuides as hosting rare visitors, as well as being home to many of the usual seaside suspects.

On arrival, you drive along a single-track road with a little wooden fence that separates you from the mudflats, exposed alongside the tidal river. Tempting though it is, you can’t take your eyes off the road to look at the abundance of waders foraging alongside the river!

I managed to stay focussed and reach the carpark, and immediately headed to the bridge. On one side, the brown river trickles towards you. On the other, the estuary opens out into a wide ocean vista, with a pebbly beach down one side. That’s where I’m heading first.

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Here, the salty sea air becomes somehow more briny, thanks to the brown-green seaweed heaped over the rocks. The only birdsong is the bickering of Black-Headed Gulls, which have only a small speck of black summer plumage remaining – just behind their eyes.

As I scanned the crowd of gulls, though, a brownish shape was moving around behind them. Like most waders, it kept its head down for a frustratingly long time, hiding its most identifiable feature: its beak.

A kind man with a camera like mine had tipped me off about a Black-Tailed Godwit, or ‘blackwit’ around here. Could this be it?

Tip me a coffee?

When it did eventually raise its head, a long, downward curved bill became apparent. Not a blackwit, they have straight bills. So this is a Curlew or a Whimbrel. Curlews are larger, with more uniform golden-brown plumage on their heads and an enormously long beak. Whimbrels have a pale stripe above their eye and a dark ‘crown’ above that, and their bill is slightly shorter and less curved.

A Whimbrel*! Pacing the line where the waves lap the beach, it probes its beak almost to the hilt, looking for molluscs and crustaceans. Anything caught gets thrown swiftly to the back of the throat in one deft movement. It’s fascinating to watch them as they work the shore.

*The photo above is actually not a Whimbrel. It’s a juvenile male Curlew (thank you for your kind correction). You can sex a Curlew by the length of its bill; females have a longer, more curved beak. I’ll leave the photo in for comparison with the image, below, which is indeed a Whimbrel. This is testament to how difficult ID-ing waders can be. And now we all know how to sex a Curlew. Win–win!

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The terrain changes as the path meanders over a grass verge, which you follow the top of until you come to a duck pond. The pond, to the left, is alive with Little Egrets, bathing gulls, ducks, a family of Mute Swans and a wailing Little Grebe. There are often Cormorants among the egrets here, but I can only see one and it looks… weird. Proportionally, it’s all wrong.

This bird has a long, downward curved beak… but this is not a Curlew or a Whimbrel. It’s black! This is Fremington’s most famous guest: a Glossy Ibis that has visited the location on and off for years. I managed to get a record shot (heavily cropped, above) then turned heel and ran from the approaching squally downpours.

Back across the beach, some newcomers had arrived. Large waders, brown – with straight beaks. I thought the Godwit had evaded me, but it was just gathering its friends! Seven in total, purposefully striding alongside the Oystercatchers, gulls and Whimbrel.

I honestly thought that was it for the day, and was pretty happy with my haul of photos. But on my drive out alongside the river, one of only four precious parking spaces was available! I have waited years for the chance to inspect the tidal mudflats up close – and I was not disappointed.

At first, lots of Redshanks. There are about 70 in the photo below, whereas I usually only see one or two at a time at other locations.

Then a Greenshank, not a bird I see very often. I love how cute and unassuming they look. Their darker wing feathers are bordered with intricate details – extremely pretty.

Somehow, the star of the show was something I’d already seen – a Glossy Ibis! The same one? I don’t know. I assume local birders would have noticed if there were two here. Closer this time, allowing a better photo, though the dull light didn’t fully showcase the beautiful iridescence of its feathers.

But it didn’t keep my head turned for long. Nor did the Grey Heron or Little Egrets, or even the Buzzard that scattered the waders as it patrolled overhead.

Emerging from the long grass, the missing puzzle piece. A sideway glance from this tall, golden bird with exquisitely detailed plumage reveals the beak of the day. It’s a Curlew!

Critically endangered, these birds have the most hauntingly beautiful call (listen to it here). I’ll never forget waking up in a campsite at the coast to hear their song echoing across the countryside.

While our Curlews often spend their winters in Ireland of France, we get an influx from Scandinavia, so they can be seen on most of the English coastline year-round. The UK and Ireland are home to 25% of the global population of this species and, like many of the birds in this post, they are on our ‘red list’ of most endangered bird species.

The muddy margins of a tidal river might not make the most photogenic backdrop, but thanks to the nutrients in the silt they support a huge range of invertebrates, and therefore the birds that feed on them too.

And perhaps best of all, they’re often free to visit. Just… don’t venture onto the actual mud. It’s extremely dangerous (and entirely unnecessary).

Thanks for reading – I’d love to hear what you’ve spotted out and about while I was gallivanting in Devon!

Gem

Just two minutes into our walk from Marble Arch we were treated to our first (short-lived) downpour. As the sun poked its head out again, we were momentarily transported from the Serpentine (the lake in Hyde Park) to the seaside by the sound of a Herring Gull in full ‘song’.

I’m always in awe of the volume of their cry – it could be heard over the cars, buses, planes and general din of the city. A harsh sound, yes, but necessary. Back in their natural environment, it needs to carry for miles over the sound of the wind and waves crashing against cliffs.

There is perhaps just one bird in the park that is even noisier – the one we’re really looking out for.

Ring-Necked Parakeets are the most exotic feathered residents, except, perhaps, for the Pelicans ‘round the corner in St James’ Park. The parakeets are everywhere, and rumours about how they came to live here are rife.

I rather like the one about how they were released for a scene in a film at the famous Elstree Studios, but no one had considered how they’d re-capture them afterwards.

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It’s also known that Jimi Hendrix kept some parakeets, and apparently enjoyed watching them fly around him while he smoked… and perhaps left his window open one day. There seems to be no agreement on which rumours are true.

I suppose I can’t casually mention the Pelicans in London without explaining. Gifted to us in the 1600s by the Russian Ambassador, Pelicans have lived in St James’ Park ever since – wings clipped, but free to roam.

(I remember the first time I encountered them. It felt like a feathery fever dream, as I had no idea they were there, and my colleagues at the time acted like they were no different to the pigeons all around us!)

The Grey Herons here aren’t as numerous as the other species, but they make themselves known with their ugly squawk when they arrive. Usually seen elegantly picking fish out of the water (and inelegantly swallowing them whole), these Herons are less fussy. (I dread to think what they eat here, aside from the fish and mice, but they did join the occasional throng of birds around a tourist dishing out huge chunks of bread.)

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Those throngs are a pretty wild mixture, at times. The only birds that really kept their distance from people were the Great-Crested Grebes, who at this time of year have humbug babies with them – sometimes riding on their backs! And the Goldeneye and Pochard ducks were both a little shy.

We created our own throng with a scattering of peanuts, and as I knelt to hand-feed the pigeons, Greylag, Egyptian and Canada Geese, a lumbering presence appeared out of the water. A Mute Swan! Rumoured to have strength enough to ‘break a grown man’s arm’, there is actually no record of this ever having happened. But you do have to wonder…

Fortunately, the swans were in good humour today. Alongside them, Crows, Coots and Moorhens scrambled to pick up any crumbs.

But best of all, the Starlings. I can’t tell you how special it is to feed these little birds in person. At home, they descend on the feeders in a flurry of wings and beaks and noise – then depart again as soon as they spot you. Here, though, they sidle up to you as you eat and even sing next to you.

I only had my small bridge camera with me, but that was plenty good enough thanks to the bravery of these urban birds.

Wild This Week usually tackles the latest seasonal occurrences, but the beauty of London parks is that most of these birds are here year-round. The paths are accessible and there are cafes, toilets and benches everywhere. It’s free, the gardens are beautiful and the wildlife really isn’t shy.

Purists may say it’s not ‘wildlife’ at all. But for some people, it’s the only green space they can access. So who cares?

I had a wonderful time sharing something I love with a friend who would not describe herself as a birdwatcher, and the pizzas we got from the cafe on the Serpentine were far better than anything I’ve eaten at a nature reserve.

And when I needed to recharge after seeing quite so many people all in one place? I just head back out to my local chalk hills (where I saw absolutely nothing!).

Thanks for reading. Let me know what wildlife you’ve seen in your nearest town or city!

As you enter, you choose your path on a forked, gravelly track. Both routes wind around a corner, so you can’t see what’s ahead. On my first of three visits, I chose the opposite path to usual: right.

As you round the bend, there’s a grassy meadow on the right and tall trees. Common Reeds line the path, currently catching the sun on red seeds.

And in such sunny weather, you might catch a glimpse of birds with their wings splayed out, eyes half closed – sunbathing. Usually, it’s male Blackbirds I see in this pose, or Robins and Dunnocks. Supposedly, the warmth of the sun on their jet black or brown feathers helps to kill off some of the mites and other parasites.

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This time, a young Wren was so absorbed in its feather maintenance that it didn’t notice me watching. Its usually neat, stubby tail was fanned out beautifully for a moment before it took flight.

The first hide, the Drewer Hide, is just around the corner. It looks out over the waterway, with ducks, geese and Moorhens foraging in a pretty clearing in the reeds. I usually only give this hide a cursory visit, as I rarely see anything else. But today, I had received a tip-off that a family of Spotted Flycatchers was in attendance.

And so they were – bursting out of the tree to grab small insects in flight, then back into the tree before I could snap a shot! I love these drab little birds, they have such charming faces. And they’re hard to see in the few short months that they’re here! Look out for bursts of activity in tall trees and over waterways.

A feeble, high-pitched call could be heard from deep in the reedbeds. According to the Merlin app, it was a Marsh Harrier. But surely a huge bird like that doesn’t make such a small, whining sound?

Well the young ones do, and this young one was trying to encourage her dad (above) to drop his kill – perhaps a young partridge – to her. The adult began crying too, though a much stronger sound from him. He was insisting she take to the wing and catch the food mid-air. She had other ideas!

As he flew round and round, he attracted the unwanted attention of a passing Buzzard.

Fortunately, both adult birds seemed to have full crops, indicating they had already fed well that day. The Buzzard abandoned his efforts fairly quickly, and the Marsh Harrier kept hold of his spoils, begrudgingly delivering them direct to his offspring safely nestled among the reeds.

Further on from the hide, the path joins up with the chalk stream. And here lives one of our most charming mammals – the Water Vole. This is a good time of year to see them, especially in the morning, as the young are feeding independently outside of the nests now.

The path and stream are also lined with flowering Hemp Agrimony at the moment, which the bees love – and so do I!

Also known as ‘raspberries and cream’, it’s not actually related to Hemp at all. Apparently, if you cut the stems it has a sweet aroma, but I decided against cutting any down on the nature reserve to find out.

Another highlight at Fowlmere is the range of huge old Willow tree trunks along the path and stream. There are several fallen – some dead, some still producing leaves – with knurls and knots and twists, too big for me to get my arms around.

This one was home to Chicken Of The Woods, so safe to at least try to get my arms around. The next was home to a nest of Hornets, so I admired from a distance as they whirred past my head making that menacing buzzing sound.

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There’s an abundance of dragonflies to be seen here, too. Less menacing and more like a clattering, clicking of wings than a buzz, these fearsome hunters stopped to check me out on the boardwalk a few times. This is a wonderful time of year for dragonflies, too – the air is alive with them and they pose very obligingly when they do pause for a moment.

But I’m getting ahead of myself! Before you get anywhere near the boardwalk you encounter a manmade clearing in the reeds – the old cress beds. A 1909 book extract describes how a dam allowed this flatter area to flood, so that watercress could be grown for export to nearby London.

In the late 1930s about ten men were employed full time with another three being taken on at busy periods. There were also six women who bunched up the cress. Lorries loaded with wicker baskets full of cress went to London’s Covent Garden Market. … The main cress beds ceased production after the 1950s although W Hallworth was still supplying the markets and the village in 1965.
(L W Price, Foulmire Moor and Fowlmere RSPB reserve, 1994)

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Less fruitful on these visits, the main hide looks out over a (currently water-depleted) mere. There were unusual visitors – Yellow Wagtails – and a flock of Lapwing. But little else to be seen. The lizards on the boardwalk were still waiting for the sun to warm the wood in the afternoon, so no sightings of those, either.

Away from the reserve, I spotted two more of this seasons’ treats I want to share with you. First, a spider that I have been dying to see for years: the Wasp Spider.

That zig-zag form in the web is called a ‘stabilimentum’ and no one really knows what it’s for. These beautiful creatures look fearsome, but are not medically significant. Unless you’re a male Wasp Spider! They wait for the female to moult so that her jaws are soft prior to mating, but many still get killed and devoured after the act.

Equally as beautiful, the mossy rose gall or ‘robin’s pincushion’ seems to be having a good year.

This beautiful form is the rose’s immune response to wasp larvae that hatch from eggs laid in the leaf buds. Scientists aren’t sure exactly how, but the larvae stimulate the rose to develop large cells in the area, which the larvae eat. They also stimulate layers of tissue to develop, which form the fibrous growth pattern you can see above.

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As you can see, nature is still busy being delightful and intriguing (and slightly weird) as summer starts to draw to a close. I’d love to know what you’ve seen over the past fortnight!

Thanks for reading along,

Gem

I have noticed, on our walks, the dense nettles are at their most rigorous right now. Between those and the exuberant brambles, the footpaths are shrinking down to narrow tracks. Stingy, spiky, narrow tracks!

It’s becoming increasingly dangerous to walk underneath any nut-bearing trees, too. I’ve had clumps of young hazelnuts and several beech masts launched at me by Grey Squirrels. Intentionally? I’m not sure. (I suspect so.)

The rest of this post will make use of last year’s observations from this week. It was another great week for invertebrates. This Marmalade Hoverfly was one of many on the dandelions and other ‘weeds’. It’s the most common species of hoverfly in Central Europe and has a preference for yellow flowers.

The first photo is of a male, as the eyes touch together in the middle. The next photo, there appears to be a gap, which means it’s a female. While this information sounds useless, remember it – it also applies to Horseflies, and female Horseflies are the ones that bite.

And this little Red Velvet Mite – what a find this was!

They are so-called because… well, look at it. They’re luxurious. This one has caught an unlucky seed bug of some kind, possibly birch catkin, and is going to devour it.

At only 4mm long and with that velvety appearance, they are one of the most endearing arachnids you might find on your plants.

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Once you’ve stopped digging around in the leaf litter for mites, this is a great time of year to look up. The Swifts have gone, but the House Martins and Swallows are still preparing for their long flight south. They chirp and chatter away as they catch flies in ever-growing flocks.

But if you’re very lucky – and especially near large bodies of water – you may spot a larger, equally aerodynamic bird: the Hobby.

This noisy photo is far from what I prefer to share with you, but these birds are fast and they fly very high up, often with the sun directly behind them. So this will do – especially as you can see the main identifying features:

• The black mask. Although this is also seen in Peregrines, these birds are smaller, slimmer and have two other unique features.

• The vertical stripes on the chest. Sparrowhawks and Peregrines have less distinct, horizontal marks.

• The orange ‘trousers’. You can just make them out below the vertical stripes. Mature male Sparrowhawks do have a reddish tint to their throat and flanks that sometimes extends to their leg feathers, but in Hobbies it is very pronounced, present on both (adult) sexes and limited to just the legs and underneath of the tail.

These remarkable hunters can be seen snatching dragonflies out of the air – no mean feat – and eating them as they fly. In lieu of a better photo, this stock image/illustration does the trick (though I have to question whether they ever really perch with their prey in their feet, given the above description of their mode of hunting).

I am finding that the burden of an unwanted house move has dampened my ability to write. Every few lines, I scroll up to see if I have written ‘enough’, yet. Previous weeks, I’ve struggled not to write ‘too much’!

So I will finish here with another stock photo, because I can’t find my own picture of this beautiful bird that never fails to cheer me up – the Bullfinch.

I love that adorable face and beautiful blush colour, not seen on any other British bird. Bullfinches are in the UK year-round and make a delightfully melancholy ‘fewww, fewww’ call that helps you locate them in the summer foliage.

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And here’s the female, who I believe is equally as beautiful. There’s something about that enormous wedge of a beak that looks like a weapon paired with their meek-yet-jaunty expression that just makes me smile.

I hope to go to a nature reserve for the day next week, which will provide me with the photographic fuel and mental fortitude to write the next edition with a bit more vigour. Thanks for bearing with me!

Just two asks:

• Let me know what you’ve seen this week in the comments. It always makes me smile!

• If you aren’t also receiving my Birdfolk posts that introduce a different bird each week and you’d like to, add it onto your list by going to your profile settings and finding 'Birdfolk’ in your list of subscriptions. This week’s was a slightly shocking introduction to the Great Tit. Next week’s is the Woodpigeon – which so far looks to be a bit less of a horror story.

See you next week!

Gem

Thankfully, most of the juvenile birds in my garden are now indistinguishable from the adults and are well able to find food for themselves. The last remaining visibly ‘babyish’ birds are the two Woodpigeon squabs. Woodies nest almost all year round, so out-of-season fledglings is the norm.

This one is starting to grow into his previously oversized, bulbous beak – because his body is now also rather bulbous. He still looks a bit scruffy, and lacks the plumage features of his parents: a white ring around the neck and a blush of irridescent green around that white collar.

He does have the pink flush on his chest, though it isn’t as deeply colourful as on the adults. His eyes appear dark, like an anime character’s, unlike his parents’ yellow eyes with black pupils that feature a weird smudge.

Woodpigeons are hilarious. They make truly terrible nests, often just a few twigs balanced on a branch or some other non-flat surface. When they do, by some miracle, hatch some chicks, it’s kinda up to chance whether or not they look after them.

The first two squabs in my garden seemed to be a source of great annoyance to the parents. The adults spent more time chasing them away than nurturing them. These two, though, have been thoroughly doted on. And they have grown used to my quiet presence on the garden bench, too.

Autumn’s bounty

It feels strange to mention Autumn when the sun is shining and the schools have just closed their doors for the ‘summer holidays’. But it’s August, and the trees and bushes are laden with fruits.

Blackthorn bushes are heavy with their dusty blue fruits. As a child, I’d collect these berries and rub the pale dust off of them to reveal the deeper blue underneath. My sister and I created a complex barter system, with these berries and pastes made from blackberries mixed with chalk as currency. We didn’t know these berries as sloes, so we made up our own name: goochenberries.

Elderberries have also appeared, overnight, on the trees lining the edge of the woodland. Elderberries are in the Sambucas genus, which comes from the Ancient Greek word ‘σαμβύκη’ (sambū́kē) for a wind instrument. Elders and other shrubs in this genus have a soft, marrowy centre to their twigs, which can be removed to create a hollow stick that may be fashioned into a whistle.

With a little more effort, the berries can be turned into wine and cordial. The output created by that additional effort seems to be well worth it, to me.

Fungus season

Where fledglings were stopping me in my tracks and delaying me on my walks, now there is… fungus.

These Giant Puffballs are currently about 10cm across, but they could reach 50cm! Unless, that is, someone harvests them. These are one of the best ‘beginner’ fungi for foragers, according to Wild Food UK, due to “the only lookalike being a football when spotted from afar”.

Not far from these huge, round blobs I discovered some small, black ones. King Alfred’s Cakes!

They grow on fallen trees and can stay put for years. These ones are on a relatively recently fallen tree, so I suppose I better get used to seeing them.

With a name like that, you’re hoping for a story, right? Here’s the Woodland Trust to explain:

King Alfred lived in the 9th century when parts of Britain had been overrun by Vikings. Trying to escape them, he took refuge in the home of a peasant woman who asked him to watch over her cakes, baking by the fire. He let them burn and was scolded by the woman for his negligence. It is said that embarrassed and ashamed, he scattered the cakes to get rid of the evidence.

These lovely little fungi are also called ‘cramp balls’ as carrying them about with you was said to protect you from getting cramps. Despite their delicious name and medicinal properties when carried, they are not edible. Not poisonous – just too hard and nasty to eat!

They do serve other uses however, as they burn well. Firelighters, charcoal and a way to move fire from one location to another are listed as possible uses on Wild Food UK, as well as… handwarmers. Though they don’t say if you have to warm them on the fire first (or how!).

Get them while they’re hot

Finally, something warming AND edible: sweet chestnuts. The nuts are forming inside those spikey balls, soon ready to be broken open and gathered (if the squirrels don’t get there first). Roasted on an open fire is, I hear, the best way to prepare these snacks.

I’m generally hesitant to eat anything found on walks, even sweet fruits, because I don’t really like surprises. I prefer to know what something will taste like before I try it, and wild foods rarely offer that security. But I might be tempted on my next wander, with blackberries everywhere.

I certainly won’t be taste testing the King’s burnt little cakes, however.

I suppose I’d better add some more birds. The Greylag Geese are gathering in huge numbers at my local flooded gravel pit – the noise is quite remarkable. But especially so because this is next to an airfield, so often there is the drone of a biplane doing acrobatics overhead, which sends the geese into a tizzy.

Here’s today’s acrobatic plane with a backdrop of honking.

And among all those geese, a single Common Sandpiper was probing the mud. This is the first photo I have managed to get that shows off the way the white plumage stretches up over its shoulder, setting it apart from all other sandpipers. But it’s quite tiny next to our largest goose species – bottom left of the photo to see what I mean.

That’s all this week, thank you for joining me on a belated stroll around the countryside. I can’t wait to see your fungi photos that I know are going to flood my feed over the coming weeks! And any birds you may have spotted this week too, of course.

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After weeks of hot, dry weather – rain! But not the kind of rain that falls in drops. This is a fine mist that hangs in the air, sometimes carried this way or that by the breeze. It’s still a muggy kind of warm, but the sun is long gone.

There’s a Wildlife Trust reserve an hour and a bit away that I like to visit in these conditions. It’s one of the few reserves with bird feeders and a hide to watch them from. The shelter and proximity of the birds make it an easy choice. (I’m more of a birder than a photographer, but I needed some new fodder for Substack!)

So, off to Summer Leys, Northamptonshire.

I was hoping to see a Bullfinch, my favourite bird (alongside Short-Eared Owls). There’s no hanging on the edge of your seat here: I did not see one.

But plenty of garden favourites made an exhibition of themselves!

The gold standard

This gorgeous little bird is a Goldfinch. They’re absolute fiends for sunflower hearts and nyger seeds.

They have the most beautiful call: a tittering, lilting sound that resembles toddlers chatting away in a made-up language. You often hear them saying “chippy-chip, chippy-chip” from the trees before you see them appear in flocks of ten or more.

Some sources say you can tell the males and females apart by how far behind the eye the red patch extends, which would make this a female. Most sources say it’s not a reliable way to tell. The juveniles don’t get the red face until later in the year and can be a real pain for newbies to identify.

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Slightly not-Great Tit

With 2.5 million territories in the UK, the next bird is one that most people with a bird feeder will recognise: the Great Tit.

This one looks like a juvenile, with scruffy feathers, a lot of yellow on its face, an ill-defined black streak down its front and no black collar. But it’s most likely a rather harried adult female who is undergoing a moult. She doesn’t have any sign of a yellow gape (like a youngster would have), and was very happy to attack any other birds that came near the food!

Most birds can raise a crest on top of their heads if the mood takes them, as shown above. In this case, she was about to chase off a male Great Tit. He has much more striking blue and green feathers on his back and wings, a solid black collar and his cheeks were white rather than yellow. You can see him in the bottom of the photo, though he’s out of focus.

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Creeper in the woods

As this lot were posing, bickering and generally showing off, a small movement in the trees caught my eye. Something small and brown. But it wasn’t moving like the others – it was much more furtive. It was… scuttling!

Scuttle scuttle up the tree trunk – pause – mess around in a crevice – scuttle scuttle.

Then it fluttered over to the next tree and started again, sometimes scuttling downward, sometimes upward. It can only be a Treecreeper!

It paused to look for the source of the sound from my camera, then continued.

These adorable little birds are the only brown birds you’ll see running up and down the tree trunks, upside down when required. Thankfully, their population is stable at around 200,000 territories in the UK. They’re just really hard to spot!

It paused on this stump just before going out of sight around the side of the hide. This photo shows off its downward curved bill that it uses to pull insects and spiders out from little cracks in the bark. It also shows off the formidable-looking claws that make its arboreal adventures possible. And finally, you can see the white tummy that is usually hidden flat against a tree.

This one has a yellow gape at the side of its beak. It also has lighter and more speckled plumage than most adult birds and from those features and its slightly naive behaviour – perching in the open – it’s safe to say it’s a juvenile.

Not quite a Raven

As I was leaving Summer Leys, I thought I’d spotted something really special: a Raven, perched up close! That would be very unusual.

Alas, it’s just a well-fed Crow doing a fantastic impression. The thick throat and ‘trousers’ made it appear very Raveny, but a close look at the beak tells you it’s a Crow. I think the saying goes:

If it’s a big bird with a beak attached, it’s a Crow. If it’s a big beak with a bird attached, it’s a Raven.

Still, there are beautiful tones in its plumage – blues, browns, purples. A lovely way to end a damp and grey walk!

Let me know what you’ve seen this week, wherever you are in the world! I love reading about it.

The gubbins

Thanks for bearing with me as I moved from my previous Substack – I bought the domain (Birdfolk.uk) and figured it’d be nice to use it for all my work. Which means:

• Birdfolk, a reader-supported library of articles, each on a different bird in the UK. We’re starting with the most common ones, so that new birdwatchers can learn more about what they see without having to pore over bird guides and try to remember everything they read.

• Wild This Week (this post). Always free, and will be shared most weeks on a Friday. It covers some of the seasonal stuff you’re likely to see out and about in the UK.

• Tips & Tricks. This is also free (and coming soon). It’ll cover everything from how to support wildlife in your garden through to bird identification and sustainability. This will be very sporadic, as I have 12 articles outlined but none actually written!

I’ll stop banging on about all this from next week. Thanks for being here, I really appreciate it.

While moving some of my stuff to my parents’ house, I managed to find an hour to head to nearby location with my Dad. Somewhere that is virtually unknown to other birders.

Enter at your own risk…

The reason we rarely see anyone else here? Probably because it’s a wild space with a huge industrial utility centre in the middle of it. An abundance of signs warn you that you’re there ‘at your own risk’. Fine by me!

The chalky hills are full of flowers – orchids, small wildflowers, teasels and bramble blossom. There are Burnet Moths (and their caterpillars) and bumblebees everywhere.

There are, usually, Red Kites, Buzzards and Kestrels overhead. But this time, the skies were quiet. Almost too quiet – what’s going on?

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The odd Wood Pigeon flapped past, raising our hopes momentarily. Because, silhouetted in flight and from the right distance, they resemble a very special bird of prey that has been known to nest at this location.

But no, just pigeons. And they weren’t the only red herrings we saw – Crows and Jackdaws appeared overhead. I’d point and hope it was at least one of the local Ravens.

As we reached the end of our circular walk, we had seen precisely nothing of note. Just as we were about to cut down the hill to the car, we heard it: a repetitive shrieking cry. The unmistakable begging of a juvenile bird of prey!

We hurried to an area that would afford us a view – just as a Peregrine Falcon passed over. Was that it? Our only sighting? He may not have been going at his top speed of 200mph (390km/h), but it was still a bit too fleeting for my liking!

But after a few minutes, Dad pointed out something on a pylon (the Peregrines’ favourite nest site). Once we had adjusted our cameras for the sun in the background and fired off a few shots, we zoomed in to see what we were looking at. Two juvenile Peregrines! One tearing into some prey, the other sat just in front.

Then we noticed a little face peering over one of the girders in the background – an adult (identifiable by its steel grey plumage, well defined black mask and yellow beak compared with the youngsters brown plumage, faint mask and brownish beaks).

A couple of years ago the Peregrine nestlings at this location perished on an especially hot day. It was such a relief to see these ones fledged and healthy with an adult nearby. And then, on another pylon – a second adult. The male we had a fly-past from moments before.

A final sighting of a huge corvid perched the far side of the industrial site topped it off. Even at the huge distance, the size of its beak made it unmistakably a Raven.

We headed back to the car. My dad and I have an uncanny knack for taking ‘shortcuts’ that end up being deer paths that lead us to bogs, brambles or steep climbs. Mum was surprised to see us back relatively soon and unscathed!

Away with the owls

While I’ve not strayed far from home this year (and even less so this week), it was at this time last year that I headed up to the stunning Lake District for a few days.

The hotel I stayed at has a small temperate rainforest in its grounds. That’s pretty exciting on its own – we don’t often think of ‘rainforests’ in the UK. But the adorable Red Squirrels that live there are by far the stars of the location.

While Reds are usually more shy than their larger, invasive grey cousins, they seem equally amenable to becoming tame. This population of Reds thankfully do not allow you to touch them, though you can get very close.

I then made the short trip to RSPB Haweswater – one of the loveliest drives I’ve ever taken. You follow a long road alongside a lake, nestled in a valley between huge rolling hills.

The walks at the end are magnificent. Overhead, Ravens and Buzzards. And, if you watch the hillsides closely, huge Red Deer stags and their herds of hinds.

On the way home, I had plans to drive up and down a zigzag of country roads until I found the right place to stop and watch for a Short-Eared Owl. This one had other ideas, and appeared alongside my car.

These day-flying owls have a wingspan of up to 1.3m, yet never reach 500g in weight. It appears on every continent except Australasia and Antarctica – more widespread than most other birds. And their favourite food is voles, which is handy because there are more than 150 species to choose from.

The largest type of vole, the Water Vole, can reach up to 350g. The very smallest adult Short-Eared Owl could weigh just 200g (according to Cornell Lab). While those individuals would be extreme outliers, it’s an interesting contrast between predator and prey!

Not only was the shorty a lifer, it’s one of my favourite birds. Those beautiful yellow eyes, the pretty plumage and the sheer size compared with the other three owl species I’ve seen here are just exceptional.

I pulled over and hurried to get my camera unpacked. I knew that the sound of the car door might spook it, and that it may disappear before I got my shot. But for whatever reason, it decided to stay and hunt around me – for three magical hours.

Back and forth over the long grass and scrubby bushes, suddenly pulling itself up before dropping like a stone with long legs outstretched. It caught several voles in that period, making its way back to a spot on the ground among dense gorse with each prize.

The elegance with which it flies, the way it directs its face down like a radar dish when it hears something and that satisfying drop onto its prey – I’ll never forget it.

Back then I was much less experienced with my camera, and it was a little dark and cloudy. In fact, I’ve lost the RAW files (temporarily), so these are rough-and-ready edits. But I still look at these photos and smile. Time spent with owls is unforgettable.

What have you you spotted out and about this week? Or has it been quiet (too quiet) like the start of my trip that ended in Peregrines?

The gubbins

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I returned to Fowlmere, the reed bed reserve in Cambridgeshire, as I often do when life is challenging me. The gentle chalk stream, winding paths and familiarity of the place bring me comfort.

This week, the wind was picking up. While that’s not ideal for photography, it does offer some advantages to the casual birder. The noise and movement created by gusts of wind mean you can worry less about stealth, which means you can move faster and still catch wildlife unawares. Even on those pesky creaky boardwalks!

A video from one of the hides, with rustling reed beds and the sound of the wind.

It also means the reserve is quieter, although I was there at 10am Monday morning (that’s how quickly I quit on this week!) so it was never going to be busy.

Commotion overhead

As soon as I set foot on the boardwalk I heard a raucous shriek. Several, actually. The Jays were having a whole-family ‘barney’ (that’s an argument, to any non Brits!).

Jays are our only colourful member of the crow (corvid) family, and they are SHY. If you hear them, freeze! You might be treated to a glimpse, especially at this time of year when the young are wreaking havoc.

Well, they’re supposed to be shy. This one alighted on a branch right in front of me. It stayed there, watching me, while the rest of its crew carried on bickering loudly.

I was expecting the Jay to leave at any moment, but instead something strange happened. First, its crest began to rise. Then its wings and tail spread. Finally, the beak opened and after one more sideways glance at me, it closed its eyes.

(Well, it closed its third eyelid, a translucent protective membrane that birds have. Also known as the nictitating membrane.)

This shy, reclusive Jay was sunbathing in the fleeting patch of sunshine that had just pierced the clouds. And it stayed there, long after I got distracted by a movement in the reed bed and followed its progress alongside the boardwalk.

Rustling in the reeds

Reed Warblers seem to stir up a lot of chaos as they progress through the reeds, giving the impression of something much larger ploughing through. But they can’t control themselves – within seconds their loud, chaotic call starts up and you know exactly who you’re dealing with.

At the end of the boardwalk, there’s a little bridge before you come to the first hide – the Spring hide, named for the bubbling springs that feed into the waterway. Among the reeds in front of the hide, munching can be heard. Like the Reed Warbler, the sound gives away the critter instantly: Water Voles.

But unlike the Reed Warbler, you rarely catch sight of any movement. If you’re lucky, you’ll see the ripples emanating after the characteristic ‘plop’ as they disappear underwater and swim away. Last summer, however, the warm weather brought them out into the open for a brief, wonderful moment. They groomed and gnawed on reeds in plain sight, much to mine and my Dad’s delight.

No birds, no fowl

‘Fowlmere’ – the name suggests an abundance of ducks on a large body of water. But it has an uncanny knack for being devoid of life every now and then, earning it the affectionate nickname (from me) ‘eff-all Fowlmere’. Perhaps one reason for those quieter days is the presence of this killing machine.

The leggy, stern-faced Marsh Harrier. They hunt on long, broad wings tipped with black ‘fingers’ (primary feathers) – and they rarely come back empty handed. Their favourite prey here seems to be Moorhens, although they have shown up with ducks, rabbits and unidentifiable other remains, too.

On a windy day, I expected only a fleeting view. But the female showed up immediately with a Moorhen chick in her claws, closely followed by the male. He had a notably thick throat with an obvious bulge, suggesting a crop full of recently devoured prey. He was not shy as he sped past the hide, uncharacteristically close.

They are feeding chicks at the moment, and on calmer days can be seen doing ‘food passes’, where they drop dead prey for the juveniles to catch on the wing as practice. This behaviour also happens during courtship season, when the male woos the female with food gifts delivered mid-air.

The wind continued to rise, bringing with it ominous looking clouds that sent me scurrying back to my car. But there was one last treat to enjoy as I rolled slowly out of the carpark – more corvids. This time, mostly Rooks – gathered in the fields in huge numbers.

Undeniably ugly, these shaggy, unkempt members of the crow family have a bare face and rough-sounding call, and I can’t help but love them.

They always look like they’re up to something. I especially love their scruffy ‘trousers’ and the way they strut around looking for trouble. If my Grandma hadn’t been very anti-corvid, she’d have called them ‘cheeky chappies’ for sure.

Another raucous, cheeky bird that I love to see is the Starling. I know in the US these are an invasive menace, but here they fulfil a very important role. At least, they do for me! They eat leatherjackets, which are the larvae of daddy long legs (Crane Flies).

Not only do the larvae eat the roots of grass and destroy lawns, the adults are my least favourite creature on the planet. So, I’ll always welcome the squadron of screaming, bickering Starlings when they grace my garden with a visit. And those iridescent colours? Irresistible!

The gubbins

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I already loved most of it. Now, everything – even the Fire Ants – are my ‘little friends’. But these big, red ants are feisty!

They adore nesting in my potted plants, and their eggs are the same size as the adult black ants I knew and loved as a kid. No one ever warned me about the effect of using a magnifying glass on a sunny day to inspect their activities, but fortunately I was so surprised by the wisps of smoke rising from the ground that I stopped and ran away before I did any real harm.

Anyway, why ‘fire’ ants? Well this species is part of the family ‘Formicidae’, which you may be forgiven for thinking is so named because they produce formic acid. But in fact, the acid is named after the critter – formīca is Latin for ant.

It hardly matters which was named first when one of these red beasties has its jaws clamped firmly on your neck while it contorts its body so that it can sting you with acid. Fire indeed.

The huge jaws are surprisingly powerful, making it very difficult to ‘gently’ flick the ant away without harming it. (Happily, the painful sting makes it very difficult to care about the ant in that moment.)

They are not in the (similarly named) Formica family; a small mercy, as those ants can spray a jet of acid out of their rear ends! They also farm Aphids, and I have quite enough of those without any additional support.

The queen Fire Ants, of which there may be more than 100 in a single colony, can live for up to 15 years. While I do find ants fascinating, they pose a slight problem for me. All my garden plants are in pots, and if I have to move back to my parents’ house I am not sure they will welcome those containers of fire ants into their garden. I’m not wild about transporting them there in my car, either…

Bugging out

Another intriguing little creature I have in huge numbers is the Birch Catkin Bug. They are what’s known as ‘true bugs’. The notion of a ‘true’ bug really tickles me.

Unfortunately, so do these things every time they awaken from their winter slumber. Which, fine - I don’t mind finding a little bug on me and helping it back into the garden. But this species creates a strong smell when disturbed. They show up in such huge numbers that you can barely move without disturbing them, so my senses are assaulted by their dry, musky stank several times a day.

There are more than 80,000 (!) true bug species in the world, including cicadas, bedbugs and waterbugs. They are different to other types of insect in that they have a ‘piercing’ proboscis, used to stab and then suck up their meals, which range from sap to blood.

Much less dainty than, for example, Butterflies, which delicately unroll their proboscis and use it to sup on nectar.

And then we have the Parent Bugs. I don’t believe these ones smell. They’re lovely, big bugs that tend to their offspring well, hence the name. As a result, in most years they are plentiful visitors (although my very-enthusiastic winter pruning of the roses means I’ve not seen any this year).

Pond life

My pond is presenting me with another challenge. If I do have to move house, I think it’ll come with me. I’m rather attached to the large population of Water Hoglouses (hog lice?) that bumble around on the Hornwort.

The hog lice are like your standard Woodlouse/slater, with extended legs and an aquatic lifestyle. They spend their days hoovering up dead plant matter and becoming food for even more interesting residents like water beetles and dragonfly larva.

In the video below, you can see the contents of a ‘pond dip’ in my pond. The large creature is the Hoglouse, the tiny ones are Water Fleas. The medium-sized critters are both fly larvae – the one with three hairs sticking out of its rear is an Upwing (which includes Mayflies) and the tumbling one is some sort of Mosquito.

Bloomin’ wildflowers

They wildflower area I replaced the original plastic grass with has attracted lots of butterflies and moths. They are also visited by my first grasshoppers and damselflies. Wildflowers in bloom at the moment include small white clouds of yarrow flowers, the last of the red poppies and a sprinkling of yellow buttercups and white daisies.

My roses may not have any Parent Bugs today, but there are two Speckled Wood Crickets in attendance.

Non-natives include the purple plumes of a salvia plant, the fading peachy dahlia and the Asiatic Lillies, that fortunately were spared by the lily beetles this year. I don’t mind the beetles, they’re beautiful red jewels. But their grubs are bulbous, wrinkled creatures that eat ravenously and produce a huge volume of ‘frass’ (poop) that often coats their bodies and the leaves below them. Like something from a horror movie.

One, two, tree

I am something of an accidental tree collector. You see, once a seed has sprouted, I can’t bring myself to pull it out like a weed. It’s a tree! Decades of potential life – it’s simply not appropriate fare for the garden waste bin.

So, of course, I have two Yews, a Rowan, two (six foot) ornamental Cherries and a Sycamore. The only ‘intentional’ trees are the Eucalyptus and an Acer.

The neighbours’ Rowan that towered over my garden and donated a seed was sadly chopped down last week. At this time of year, the berries are appearing – greenish yellow, unripe but full of potential. In winter, the thrushes in particular love to gorge themselves.

If it was still standing, it would be heaving with fledged birds today, hiding among its branches between trips to the feeders. Blue Tits, Great Tits, Dunnocks, Blackbirds and Robins, especially. But also a Wren who used it as a high perch from which to project its beautiful voice. And, recently, a male Blackcap too. The feeders are suspiciously quiet, though I’m blaming the heatwave for now.

The gubbins

That’s it for this week. I stayed very close to home on account of the heatwave – it’s been 32°C (90°F) and I’m simply not cut out for it! But there’s so much more I could have mentioned – spiders, harvestmen, bees, wasps and hoverflies. More wildflowers popping up between my paving stones. The squirrels, rats and mice that visit.

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I’ll be back next week! My Dad is finally getting himself a mirrorless camera, so I expect we’ll have wandered further afield than my humble garden on the hunt for slightly more exotic species. I can’t wait to share them with you.

Let me know what you’ve spotted in the meantime.