To sing with a nightingale

Lately Nigel and I have been campaigning to stop the St Albans chainsaw massacre of mature trees. It makes us very sad to see the council cutting down trees containing birds' nests and chicks and it is fatiguing not to succeed.
However, a deep love for nature provides its own consolations. This weekend we attended a singing with nightingales session near Lewes with folksinger Sam Lee of the Nest Collective.
We made ourselves at home in the simple campsite, then at a given time moved to a clearing where firepits glowed. Even before the event got underway, we saw a mistle thrush chasing a sparrowhawk away from its nest.  Then Sam Lee and guest singer Eska entertained us with stories and song and told us more about nightingales - it is the male who sings, hoping to attract a female.
After dark, we set off through the wood in silence, single file, in the pitch dark. We were so quiet we could hear caterpillars munching the leaves. In the distance we began to detect the sweet liquid notes of the nightingale.  Somewhere along a field boundary, with the nightingale casting his song down on us, we stopped and lay on the grass, gazing up at a million stars. The bird dueted first with some very noisy frogs nearby, and then with Sam and Eska.
The perfect moments stretched out and overhead, a shooting star flashed past.

Too soon it was over and we filed back to the campsite.

Yet there was one last grand finale. In the morning we were woken  by a very splendid dawn chorus.
We are revived and refreshed.

Frogs and Fountains

At the centre of the Arabic architecture in the palaces of Andalusia is the fountain. Each house arranged itself around a tranquil courtyard and in each case the serenity was enhanced by one or more fountains connected by rills, and often a central pool. 

The fountains ran quietly to give just a gentle bubbling sound. The pool would remain calm enough to reflect the arcades around and the heavens above.

If you see an array of splashy jets, they were invariably introduced more recently.

At the Palacio Viana, Cordoba, we visited each of the twelve garden courtyards, and in each of them, I found myself scrutinising the ponds for something which wasn't there.

Eventually, a fellow tourist - an English woman - appeared at my elbow and said,

'I expect you're looking for frogs. I don't think there are any here, but there are some at the Real Alcazar.'

She turned out to be quite right - see pic below.

But how did she know I was looking for frogs?  

Perhaps it is a natural assumption that all British tourists pass their holidays in a state of yearning, homesick for the frogs in their ponds at home. In my case at least, quite true. 

Frog chorus

 

We have just enjoyed a weekend of what I can only call audio tourism.  

Work took Nigel to the old university city of Leuven, and I joined him there. After the regular hum of several hours of train travel, arriving was a treat for the ears.  

 

In little leafy parks we heard spring birdsong. I noted how familiar favourites like blackbirds and robins had a slightly different call, like a different accent. 

 

Leuven was also hosting a festival of sound installations called Hear Here. The most memorable was in a glasshouse in the botanic gardens -  a set of 250 tiny speakers suspended from the ceiling emitted the sound of bees coming and going and one could immerse oneself in the buzz of the hive. On listeners’ faces were looks of wonder. 

 

But the best sounds of all were at the Abbey Park on the outskirts of the city. Standing by a reed bed on the edge of a lake we were startled by the bright sudden burst of notes which heralded the Cetti's warbler.  A bird which I had never seen before, and, as it remained hidden, still haven't! 

Also in the reeds were a bunch of very enthusiastic frogs. Unlike the chaps in my pond at home who sound merely as if they are suffering from dyspepsia, these frogs were loud and ebullient, like the party one hears in the distance and longs to be invited to.

 Coming home now, my ears feel as if they have had a work-out – they are all nice and ready to pick up the calls of the swifts, newly arrived in St Albans. 

NB The frog in the top photo is not the one making all that noise, but i couldn't get a pic of the noisy ones! 

Photo by Erzsébet Vehofsics on Unsplash