In the last fifteen months of intermittent lockdown, we have become more connected to our home. As we think about going away for a week, in the summer, we discover just how much. The prospect of leaving certain things untended is harder, the list of favours that we have to ask of friends and neighbours longer.
Our doves have grown habituated to Nigel’s presence in the back
garden. They crowd round him, ostensibly
to be fed, but primarily for his bird-talk, a stream of idle chat suited to
domestic fowl. When on holiday, we can
arrange for them to be fed, but who will keep them up to date with the news?
Likewise, a young friend from church has agreed to water the
plants, but they will surely miss our coaching and encouragement. I’m sure they will continue to
photosynthesise without us, but they will lack enthusiasm.
As for the dozens of wild birds who visit our garden, they
may never forgive us. Our regular supply
of seed and suet has already helped them raise one brood. How could we leave them at what is a critical
moment for their second brood?
But our young friend has agreed to re-fill the feeders for
us.
So we can leave our house for just a little while and spend
some time with our own brood.
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