South Downs Way - Missing it

Sometimes the walkers and runners we pass are plugged into headphones or earbuds. One guy wasn't even bothering with those - he had music blaring straight out of his rucksack.

I want to tell them, 'You're missing it!' 

Every time we pass a thicket or a rustling hedge, there is birdsong. The mob of summer-visiting warblers has arrived to breed and our native birds are also singing their tiny hearts out over mates and territories. This incredible symphony lasts only a few months of the year.

Different birds favour different areas - on day three we were hearing tree pipits, who have the most beautiful song, the following day, whitethroats, with their busy, scratchy tunes.

And always, there are wrens, robins, yellowhammers, chiff-chaffs, blackbirds and thrushes.

But there is one constant accompaniment on the South Downs Way of which we never tire - the buoyant warbling of the skylark.

Many and wonderful are the podcasts and pop tunes folks might be listening to through their ear buds, but none could possibly be as heart-lifting as the song of the skylark. 

Birdsong - and how we killed poetry

Around a dozen of us who have been friends since our youth, and sometimes camp together, share a Whatsapp group.

It doesn’t have a name, but I call it the Annabel channel as she is the founder.

Sometimes it’s very serious – articles about the history of the Ukraine: sometimes we are taking our mind off life with trivia.  Or, in this case, the beauty of the world around us:-

Annabel:

I stand on the station platform and search for the birds overhead belting out their messages every morning. Yesterday I stood right underneath the loudest Great Tit I'd ever heard, hopping about in the tree above me. So active while making so much noise!

Me:

I reckon there are 2 to 3 haiku there. Get cracking.

 

Mike took up the challenge:

Dazzled by birdsong:

I wait for the morning train.

Nearby, some Great Tits.

 

Me:

I really liked the first two lines, but the third sounded weird.

 

Annabel has a go:

'Trainwaiting, workbound,

Soulsoothed by birdsong.

Treehigh, some Great Tits'

 

Annabel tests positive with covid but gamely has another go at a haiku (priorities!)

'Train-waiting, work-bound,

Soulsoothed by birdsong, I seek

Tree-high, a Great Tit'

 

Mike has meanwhile returned to the drawing board and comes up with his master work:

Waiting for the train:

stupid birds, what a racket.

Trod in a dog-turd.

 

Having succeeded in killing the poetry I retire smugly.

If there is any moral to be drawn from this ill-starred literary venture, I think it is this:

Don’t try to include great tits in a haiku.

 

 

 

 

Little Lockdown Project for the Ears

My eyes hurt.

As a teacher, I used to get to spend time focusing on the far-away back of the classroom, trying to guess what the pupils in the back row were looking at under the desk and calculating whether I could sneak up on them before they put it away.

Now all those long-distance moments have been replaced by staring at my screen.

I am worried my bloodshot eyes will scare my pupils.  But luckily the picture’s not crisp enough.

So for my current Lockdown project, I have decided to use my ears.

The birds believe that spring is on its way and are giving three cheers, each in their own way.  I am trying to tune in to the different calls there are out there.  I’ve got the RSPB app on my phone so I can listen to bird song and try to figure out what I’m hearing.

It can be difficult to remember, so the best method for me is to fit words to the call, like the yellowhammer who sings ‘A little bit of bread and no cheese.’

Today’s morsel of learning?

‘It’s me, it’s me, it’s me.’ – coal tit

So if you spot me stopped still in mid-step with a thoughtful look on my face, that is what is going on – I’m listening to a tiny bird!

https://community.rspb.org.uk/wildlife/b/notesonnature/posts/birdsong-masterclass