Garden birding
Having live entertainment in your garden twice a day is just one of the joys of birdwatching, says Clare
Clare How-cutt-kelly on the joys of relaxing and listening to the birds sing in her garden
There’s a time of day when the birds become shadows, their silhouettes shifting from bush to bush, when their song is naked without being cloaked by the bass of passing traffic and when the air smells of earth and open fires. That time of day is dusk and it’s one of my favourite times of the day – no matter what the month. It’s a ritual for me when I’m home to make a cup of tea, unlock the door and head outside into the back garden. I like it when there’s a slight nip in the air, enough to see the steam rising from my mug. When commuters are shutting down their laptops and looking forward to bathing babies and kissing them goodnight, I’m in the garden watching the birds turn in for the evening. It’s the last hurrah and I’m just a guest. At this time of year, the dawn chorus is topping the bill and the dusk chorus is rarely given a chance to seize the limelight, but that’s OK for me. I have told you on many occasions that I am no expert in ornithology. I am a little too enthusiastic, sometimes child-like perhaps, and I can’t always tell the difference between one bird song and the next, but I feel lucky because I am learning and I take nothing for granted. At dusk, the song isn’t as full-bodied as the one we hear at dawn, it’s subtler and it can be easier to make out each voice, no matter how small the part. The Blackbirds who provide the melody, they are John Lennon and Paul Mccartney* if you like. At times they sing together in perfect harmony and at other times, there’s clearly some artistic differences and questions over royalties. So much so, that at times, you can’t hear them at all. Sparrows are the orchestra – providing a symphony of chirrups – a little stab of staccato strings. There must be at least 20 of them living and performing in the dense and dark conifers that separate my garden from my neighbour’s. Originally, there was one Robin in the dusk chorus resident band but of late, there have been two in the Hawthorn by the gate and since this is a partnership of equal opportunities, both male and female Robins sing (at least in winter) – it’s a tuneful duet that continues long after the other birds have stopped singing. Robins’ eyes can cope with low levels of
light, so any worms working overtime would be wise to get a wriggle on and get home before these newlyweds start preparing their evening meal. Often, there are other voices, too, but they are the session musicians, who come and go depending on the track that’s being laid down that day. It might include the Woodpigeon whose ‘woo-woo woo woo’ has a more chilled vibe than the similar sounding, but slightly more urgent, songs of the Collared Dove. I am still clutching my mug and wishing that I’d brought out a biscuit, but I’m never sure how long these concerts will last and I feel rude to leave before the end. The light fades a little as the wash on the sky becomes more intense, as if brushed with cobalt ink. As the minutes go on, the ink fills the sky like a drop dispersing in water. The song is starting to wind down now and the main players have gone home to their families, who will rush to greet them and ask what’s for tea. A lengthy interval is on the horizon and the Barn Owl is waiting in the wings preparing for the moment when he will have the stage to himself – his high-pitched shrill has a sinister, haunting sound that will continue until the early hours of the morning. My mug is cooler now and the tea lukewarm, so taking a final gulp of the sweet remains at the bottom of it, I head inside. This interval is the perfect time for me to take leave without appearing impolite. The Barn Owl and other members of his species will continue to puncture the air with their calls until the warm-up for the dawn chorus begins.
*As it happens, the 1968 track Blackbird is credited to both Lennon and Mccartney but was allegedly written solely by Mccartney.