Mown, Mown, Mown!

Sunday 6th May 2012
A Sky Of Two Halves

A couple of weeks ago the song of the yellowhammer went quiet, either moved on or settled down to breed. But of late the progression of the year has been marked by the scratchy song of the Sedge Warbler, singing morning and evening from within the bush along Don's dyke. When it's more confident and the sun makes a proper effort, this bird will sing boldly atop the bush bursting out its song all day.

At first light this morning, the song of a Whitethroat joined the Sedge Warbler. It seems that at last the migrants are arriving in reasonable numbers. A couple of Swifts scythed through the air later in the day too.

Sue gets to grips with the new electric chainsaw.
This special saw horse makes the chainsaw
very safe and easy to use,
but it was a real pig to assemble.

The first (almost) dry day for over a month and we decided to play with our toys! As Sue busied herself in the stables, making headway into the huge pile of logs pilfered from Don, I zoomed around on the mower. (I wish!)

Actually, it was a lot more complicated than that. The grass has been constantly too wet to mow for several weeks, during which time it has grown at an alarming pace. I had a decision to make, to wait till it was properly dry, by which time it could be contending for jungle status, or to tackle it now while there was a very small window of opportunity. So I took the plunge and spent the whole day ploughing through the swards. At times I was having to make 10 yard dashes, lowering and lifting the blades to give the mower a chance to clear itself of the straggly wet cut grass. Even then, I must have found myself jamming my arm underneath to extract the clogged mass of grass maybe twenty or thirty times. By the end of the day my hands and arms were completely stained green.

The soft fruit area and the orchard after a haircut.

So many visitors

In London, we lived in a city of millions of people, houses crammed together and people everywhere. Yet we hardly ever met anybody properly, and virtually never had visitors. It's not that we're antisocial, just the nature of a big city. I believe that the density of people releases a natural instinct to be defensive and maintain a distance through superficial relationships. I'm not having a dig, or saying that Londoners are unfriendly, it's just how things are.

Here, there are seven houses along a 4 mile stretch of road between two small clusters of houses that just about count as villages. Yet there are days, particularly on a sunny weekend, when we have visitor after visitor. They call for sausages, for eggs or to view the piglets. Many have visited the farm in the past and regale us with tales about previous inhabitants. Many take a keen interest in the project we are undertaking, and it is not unusual for us to spend half an hour or more chatting, even if we don't sell anything.

Yesterday a couple dropped in and bought a large proportion of our dwindling stock of pork. They came to look at the piglets too, and spent quite a while with us. Today, their neighbour dropped in to buy some of the pork she had been recommended! 

A family from Bedfordshire called in to buy sausages, but they went like hot cakes soon after they came back from the butcher's. They asked if their children could see the piglets and we spent another chunk of time showing them round the farm. No sale, our work interrupted, but I wouldn't swap these experiences for the world.

Two more young blokes considering purchasing a couple of piglets. And with every visitor I learn something new, either about the area, rural life, or about keeping animals and working the land.

To celebrate the first dry, sunny day for quite some time, the bees came out to play en masse today and the chickens laid an egg each.

To finish off a lovely day, we enjoyed a rare meal out with some teaching colleagues.

We like living here!

100 up and Migrants arrive

I have spent much of the last week at work, on a butchery course, or doing inside jobs to avoid the frequent downpours. It's hard to get stuck into any big jobs in such circumstances, so I've been making frequent forays into the garden with the binoculars, eagerly awaiting the first returning migrants, whether they be just passing through or staying for the summer. At the same time, I've continued to marvel at the last of the winter's visitors, the Short-eared Owls, which now hunt the surrounding fields and dykes nightly.

Early in the week, the northerly airflow was interrupted by very stiff south-westerly winds. It brought with it a constant flow of gulls, but much more significantly a lone tern flew over my head as I weeded . It didn't hang around, but was one of the small influx of Arctic Terns which seem to arrive early each year on their way to their northern breeding grounds.

It also represented the 100th bird species I've seen on the farm.

Just as welcome was the first Swallow of the year, two weeks after their return date last year. In fact, last year's birds were accompanied by House Martin, Blackcap, Willow Warbler, Marsh Harrier and Yellow Wagtail, as well as Wheatears and Black Redstarts passing through. So far this year, we have had one Chiffchaff.

Well, by today, Friday, the Swallows have properly returned, with a few hanging around and flying in and out of the stables. At least this year I won't have to worry about creating mud pools for them so they can collect nest material. It's hard to believe that last year there were serious concerns about swallows not being able to nest as we waited and waited for the first rain since February.

The swallows are very, very welcome back to Swallow Farm.

At long last, too, came a male Blackcap around the pond and a Marsh Harrier to replace the Hen Harriers of winter. Frustrating were the two small waders which flew distantly along South Holland Main Drain. Unidentifiable at that range, or they would surely have been a farm tick. I can only think that they were probably Dunlin.

Eager as I am to reacquaint myself with summer's avian visitors, it is still the owls which mesmerise me. We still have two or three Short-eared Owls in the area. The great thing about these owls, besides their masked faces, is that they come out to hunt several hours before dark and have a habit of landing on the ground in the open. I suspect they have taken to roosting up in a nearby field of reeds and they have been giving a very good show over the bottom of the land almost every night. This evening I only had distant views of them, along with a Barn Owl, until one followed the dyke along to the bottom of the meadow, where it met up with a Barn Owl from the opposite direction. Both birds were excellently lit by a bright, low evening sun reflecting off the flowering yellow rape field.

Short-eared Owl upgraded and the First Chiffchaff

Friday 23rd March 2012

This morning the first Chiffchaff of the year was singing loudly from a small isolated willow next to the orchard. Bees buzzed around the pollen-filled catkins. In the background, a Yellowhammer belted out its song from the top of a bush.  Two tortoiseshell butterflies cavorted in the meadow and a brimstone fluttered through the garden. Spring is most definitely arrived.

Short-eared Owl Upgraded
I'll jump straight to the most exciting event of the day. As I returned from work, I was scanning the ducks in the dyke when a Short-eared Owl appeared to spook the teal. I never tire of watching owls - there's something very magical about them. Anyway, I lost it behind a copse, so carried on along the road. Shortly after, a second owl crossed the road in front of the car. I pulled up and watched this one land in a small bush. I put the scope up, intending to snap a picture, but by the time I got set up there was a crow in the bush where the owl had been. I scanned around searching for the owl, only to spot it perched on a white post. Hang on a minute! That post is on my land. The bird flew off straight over the forest of plastic tubes on my farm. Short-eared Owl has been getting closer and closer to the farm, but finally one was briefly on the farm. As it flew over the rape field next to my land, it sped up its flight and flushed a female Hen Harrier from the field. This then also flew straight through my land. Only the second hen harrier of the winter. After both birds had departed in opposite directions, I continued along the back road, wishing I had actually been on my farm when these birds flew across. The views would have been amazing. Shortly after crossing Coy Bridge, a third Short-eared Owl was hunting over a field by the road.  Three Short-eared Owls and a Hen Harrier on the way home from work. Not bad.
And when I got home, the Chiffchaff was still in the same small willow, five hours after it had first flown in there.

This tiny willow held the year's first Chiffchaff for five hours today.

This was all after I had dropped in to see a Great Grey Shrike in a small copse by the A47 at Thorney. It was distant and not in good light, but it's a scarce winter visitor and one which I would love to find on my patch.

Record shot. If only it had sat the other side of the copse.

Meanwhile, back on the farm, the piglets continue to grow at an astonishing rate. They are intelligent, inquisitive creatures. Most have now grown into their saggy skin and they are starting to play, climb, poke and prod. I think we have six or seven boys again - I do know how to tell the difference, but counting them is proving difficult.
Hopefully they can move outside next week, when it will be easier to count them and separate them.

"I wonder what's in here."

"Look, green stuff. Must stand on it, then eat it."

And finally...
The white linnet put in another appearance. Feeding on the ground in Don's orchard, it was more reminiscent of a Snow Bunting. This bird is so distinctive, I don't give it long given the number of raptors around here. Odd birds like this tend to get snapped up quickly, though it's managed to avoid capture thus far.