The Courier & Advertiser (Fife Edition)
Does he or she love me, or love me not? Fine time to see with a dandelion clock
It’s the busiest time of the year for nesting birds – there’s not a species I can think of that hasn’t nested and is sitting on eggs or is already on a second brood. Our nest box was claimed early on by house sparrows. Not surprising really, as their name suggests they are rarely found far from human neighbours.
They lay up to three broods a year, so we’ll likely see plenty activity for several weeks to come. From my study window I watch the busy adult birds flying in and out of the nesting box, their beaks stuffed with insects and larvae on which their chicks thrive, to feed what I guess is their second brood.
It’s just as busy on the grass, especially as I’ve just cut it. As I write, I’m watching three adult starlings scampering all over the lawn, run ragged in search of insects and worms to feed their fat juveniles which have brown plumage with a flash of light feathers below their chins.
The young are larger than the parent birds at this stage and are able to fly. They stand impatiently, flapping their wings to encourage their parents to greater efforts and making no effort themselves. It won’t be too much longer until nature tells the parent birds to effectively kick their fledglings out of the nest and let them get on with their own lives. The juveniles will slim down as they must fly more now to feed themselves, their juvenile plumage will moult and they will be on their own.
I’d let dandelions grow in a bed of crocosmia in the front garden. The flowers died and the familiar dandelion clocks were a great attraction for the goldfinches which soon stripped them of their seeds. Usually I’d dig them out as tiresome weeds and miss the pleasure of watching the finches from the sitting room window as I have my coffee.
Dandelion clocks, ghostly balls of dandelion parachute seeds, are the metamorphosis of the dead yellow flowers. I can’t think when I last saw youngsters playing the harmless country game of blowing the parachute seeds off a dandelion head and chanting “She/he loves me, she/ he loves me not” to each other.
It’s a chancy business, mind you. Many an innocent heart must have been irreparably broken because the lover blew away the last seed before he or she could finally express his or her undying devotion. You have to be sure that you finish with at least one seed on “loves me”, or love will go unrequited.
It’s going to be a tremendous season for conkers. All the horse chestnut trees I pass are covered with the most glorious blossom
– great candelabras of snowy flowers that transform into conkers. That means conker fights – or it did when I was young. Another harmless entertainment that seems to have gone right out of fashion.
I remember being told that putting a conker in each corner of a room stops spiders coming into it. “We do it”, the man said, “and the grandchildren, too – and it works.” Well, folklore or not, you can’t argue with authority like that, so I waited till no one was looking and stuffed my pockets with the glossy brown nuts.
The fields of permanent pasture are glowing with an abundance of golden buttercups. If we had a granddaughter visiting I could hold a buttercup under her chin and if the gold of the petals reflected on her skin it’s proof she likes butter. It’s a fail-safe test and has always been so, ever since there have been grandfathers.
I’m often woken around 4.30am by the
song of the early dawn chorus. Sometimes I’ll make a cup of tea for the Doyenne and myself, other times I just lie and enjoy the sheer exuberance of our garden birds. While I’m prepared to believe birds sing for the sheer joy of it, at this time they are singing to identify their territory to other birds and to warn them to keep clear of their nest and nestlings.
All birds have a range of calls and variations to pass on messages to other birds. Their songs distinguish one species from another and help us humans, as well as other birds, identify which bird we are hearing.
Which bird has the sweetest song? For me it has to be the blackbird which has a wonderful range of tuneful phrases which really do sound like song. Next would be the song thrush, but its song is a series of sweet phrases which are repeated three or four times before moving on to the next
one. The chaffinch and robin are readily identifiable, and over the years I’ve learned to identify other garden favourites. It adds to the enjoyment of your garden if you know who you are sharing it with.
There’s such a lot to see and to hear, but you have to get out there to hear and to see it.
Finish with at least one seed on ‘loves me’, or love will go unrequited