Birding in February 2011

Over the past few weeks we have noticed that Blackbirds are coming down for scattered apples on our snowy lawn. They spend almost as much time quarrelling as feeding. It seems that if they are hungry they will still chase away a rival blackbird before starting to eat. The brown females seem as fierce as the males and will not hesitate to drive off a male who was her mate last year and will probably be her mate again this year. The young brown females with their speckled throats are the most timid, but they can sometimes nip in and carry a piece of apple away. They get something to eat more easily if they can find a sheltered corner of the lawn where the earth is moist and still clear of snow.

We are delighted that some of the Song Thrushes that survived the coldest December on record have begun to sing again. The birds that are now singing have resumed performance a little later than normal for them to begin their regular spring song. The song was poetically described:

"That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!"

In fact, the most beautiful, ringing note in the song is usually repeated three times, not two, but "twice" suited the nineteenth-century British poet Robert Browning's poem (Home Thoughts, from Abroad) better than "thrice". I could not help feeling that he would have been glad to know that the birds were still performing more than 120 years after he died despite all the previous harsh winters.

Whilst we were enjoying listening to the thrushes some Goldfinches were making their tinkling twitters at the top of our bare cherry tree and a Robin was singing softly in the twisted Wisteria. Suddenly a Redwing slightly smaller than their related song thrush flew out of the Pyracantha, it had been feeding on the juicy red berries. It was followed rapidly by another, then another, and suddenly the sky to the east of the garden was filled with redwings flying about in their wild, erratic way. The sun was low behind us, but its rays were strong and fell directly on the flying birds. So the bright red feathers under the wings of these wintering thrushes all shone out brilliantly as the flock whirled around above the sunlit landscape. It was a spectacular sight while it lasted.

D. H.