The Dove and the Passion Flower

The last few weeks have been about trying again.

A year ago we attempted to establish our own flock of doves but failed to source bonded pairs of birds as we should have. 

Over winter we appeared to be running an all-you-can-eat buffet for the local sparrowhawk. In the spring the two remaining pairs nested but magpies raided them persistently. Finally they drifted off to join a bigger flock just down the road.

Three weeks ago we got new birds and netted them in so they would learn to think of our dove cote as home. Then on the night of a dear friend's funeral, a fox broke in, killed one dove and made a hole big enough for others to get out.

Now we are trying once more with four new pairs of doves.

Meanwhile in the back garden, we just planted a passion flower for the fourth time. We're usually good with flowers, but clearly not passion flowers. Maybe this time.

In both cases, we think it's worth trying again because we have a vision. A flock of doves wheeling above our house and landing on the roof.  A sunny back wall bursting into life with the exotic green and violet blooms of the passion flower.

With both flowers and birds, we've taken note of what went wrong and tried to improve our chances of success this time.

Wish us luck

ITALY TRIP - Ancient Soundscape

Living on the edge of a market town close to London, our evening soundscape is quite meagre. Rustling often turns out to be merely the neighbour watering their plants.

Police/ambulance sirens also feature.

However in a villa on a wooded hill in Tuscany we had a taste of what the soundscape could be.  Perhaps this was how it used to be in our country.

We could hear the chirring of nightjars, the staccato chirping of crickets, the distant liquid song of a nightjar. 

A tawny owl called too-wit too-woo and a fox barked. A badger rustled heavily just beyond the fence.

But the creature which completely defied identification was something which inhabited the bushes near the terrace and at regular intervals uttered a harsh “Pssst!” as if trying to attract our attention.

I did not even know whether it was a bird, reptile or mammal, so went online to research.  I was just playing a wildlife recording when Carenza happened along. (The offspring had joined us for this leg of the journey.)

“What are you doing, Mum?”

“I’m listening to recordings of Tuscan owls.”

“Oh Mum!” she said, turning on her heel. “I’ve never heard anything so middle class in my life!”

And no, I never did find out what went "Pssst".