Sir Edward Grey

                        “An Artist will paint the commonest subject in order to bring out some aspect that has particularly struck him.  So with watchers of birds, some are attracted by a well-known species and some by another.  Thus even those of us who have nothing new to tell may have something fresh to say.”

                                     

Sir Edward Grey, Founder of EGIFO

                        “most important and prolific organisation for scientific field ornithology in Western Europe, the Edward Grey Institute at Oxford University”

Toad Crossing and Maggie Thatcher as a Twinkle.

Migrating Toads

The first signs are the toads appearing on the driveway, all heading in one direction.  They are enroute  to the lake which prior to gravel extraction would no doubt have been a wetland.  They are simultaneously tiny and vulnerable and outrageous.

My daughter, (shame on you) runs away from one perched knowingly on the porch. There is something alien-like about the toads, but despite their cold, warty skin and callous demeanour, I can’t help loving them.

The lane above our house will have been a migratory route for thousands of years.  Long before the road was there, or I was here.  Before David Cameron, Tony Blair, John Major were in office.  Long before Margaret Thatcher was a baby or an embryo, or a twinkle in ther father’s eye, toads were migrating across the road at Bodenham.

Indeed toads were migrating here before Parliament existed, before women got the vote, the man on the street got the vote (which was considerably earlier), before the Chartists and the Enclosures Act and before the Domesday Book. Toads can see in light intensities where humans can’t discern anything.  Periodically, they shed their skin and eat it.  How can we persuade those who don’t get it to love them? Its not going to be easy. x

Costa the Seagull - a story from the summer.

Got a call to say a seagull had been seen distressed and crying for its mum all day in Hereford Hightown, outside Costa Coffee, in the searing heat.  My friend,  Amy, who  was at the scene,  caught the seagull using my advised technique of throwing a towel over the bird and brought her to me.  I fed her a mushy meal of brown bread and raw egg. Sat on my lap wrapped in a towel.  Happy Seagull.  It was so, so hot. We were about to go to Devon so that I could show my children where  I have been working on BBC2's 'The Burrowers'  With Chris Packham. Don't have any voluntary backup from my wildlife rehabilitation work,  so the only thing for it was to take the young seagull with me on my travels. Luckily Linda at the Frankaborough farm B&B is the warmest and most flexible host you could imagine. She let the Seagull stay. Needed feeding every few hours, fish, meat, bread, egg, so we took her with us everywhere we went.  Tintagel, Dartmoor, cafe, beach, restaurant.  Couldn't leave seagull in  the car because it was too hot. Projectile poo stretched the tolerance of some of the friends I visited. Lots of cleaning up, hot water and disinfectant.  We made it home and She gained strength and grew and grew. But she didn't fly. Despite being in a barn big enough. Had her checked over by the vet. All ok. Thought maybe she needed a bit of inspiration.  So I took seagull to Tinkers Hill Bird of prey rescue. There were 18 other seagulls waiting to be released back to the sea. She would join them and in a week or two so with flying nimbly up to the perch. She flew off the Gower Peninsula back into the wild with her friends. Rescue successful. 

This morning a box of presents for a jackdaw

Decided to give my jackdaw another chance at freedom this morning. 

The morning opens out of the box of night,

 like presents laid on a table for a child,

wrapped in birdsong and tied with silver dew,

My jackdaw is sitting in the poplar tree,

the tallest around,

eating a breakfast,

of sunlight and stardust,

If I could fly,

i would come too, over the fields,

 show you a thing or two about,

dung beetles.

Just to fly for one day, one time,

may be worth the ever lasting death,

to stretch your wings and be one with the sky,

i will never know.

Keep up, keep up,

the jackdaw is alighting in the hawthorn,

and with forensic  beak,

inspects each new born leaf.

There is so much to know,

old man's beard, white bryony,

soft mud and creased wood,

the gnawing frosts of winter.

Love, is not confined to our kind,

when one loves a jackdaw,

perch on my shoulder and groom my hair,

life fills with conundra.

 I fear, I worry for 

your safety, but 

I want you to feel the breeze,

the september sun is warming.

And you have chosen this perfect morning

nothing would stop you,

you sat all night in the pouring rain

to have this morning.

I stand my feet on my balcony and call

and out of the woods,

the canopy of light and green,

you answer me.

Go find your friends,

I shout,

You chat back,

a teenage bird on a high.

Sometimes, its possible to set free,

and to truly love back

and not come back

to  love freedom more.

Sasha x