A Surprise Visitor to Barleycorn

On the weekend of the RSPB Big Garden Birdwatch, my hubbie replenished the feeders with peanuts and wild-bird seed, hung several fat-balls from the birch trees and prepared the bird-table with a mountain of scraps, in order to attract as many of our feathered friends as possible.
There’s always great excitement when, on red-letter days, a buzzard, or a sparrowhawk, or a great-spotted woodpecker make an appearance in the garden…and, equally, disappointing when they are absent on the official Garden Birdwatch.
Imagine our great surprise then, when, during the hour in which we were ‘doing the count’, a huge pheasant flew over the stone-dyke wall into the garden. Suddenly, our focus shifted onto this large, hen-size bird.
There is open countryside adjacent to the back garden at Barleycorn and mixed woodland bordering the field, and in this area pheasants are common on game farms where they are reared for commercial shooting…hence two possible reasons for his appearance. Not that we haven’t seen one in the garden before, for we sometimes find one korkk-korkking on the wall when one of the cats is nearby.

Phasianus Colchicus, better known as the common pheasant, is not native to Britain.
Some sources claim pheasants were first introduced 2000 years ago when the Romans invaded Britain. Others claim they were brought here with the Normans in the 11th Century. One fact appears to be indisputable. They originated in western Asia.

This male probably came into the garden because it was attracted by the overspill of seeds from the feeders and the fat-balls, which hang from the birches bordering the adjacent field. Pheasants and other game-birds often keep to the margins of the field where the stone-dyke wall, which borders the entire field, affords them shelter and camouflage.

As you can see he is very colourful, with a dark-green face and red wattles, and a body and tail of rich chestnut, with golden-brown and black patterns. We were transfixed, for he looked as if he was wearing Joseph's technicolour-dreamcoat on this otherwise dull day in January with the garden looking somewhat drab in tone, while awaiting its Spring coat.

He wandered around with his long tail cocked up at an angle. At first, the smaller birds flew upwards but soon settled down again when they realised he was only interested in feeding on the seeds, and not on them.

After he’d had enough seeds he strutted across to the rockery and pecked at a few shoots on the lithospermum, pictured in one of the photographs below. It is a heather-like plant, which comes in beautiful Gentian-blue shades and has a lovely trailing habit, covering slopes in the scree bed.

On our bird count sheet, we had to note down the largest number - of each species - we saw together at any one time during the hour. Here are the totals.

Blackbird - 3; Blue tit – 8; Carrion crow – 1; Chaffinch – 17; Coal tit – 3; Collared dove – 4; Dunnock – 1; Feral pigeon – 20; Great tit – 1; Greenfinch – 1; House sparrow – 10; Jackdaw – 5; Robin – 1; Starling 14; and Pheasant - 1

It was interesting to see how easily a twiggy rhododendron shrub camouflaged his brightly-coloured plumage when he ran behind it. He felt safe enough to wander around, as I was filming, and taking photographs, indoors.

After taking a few photos, I set my camera to video mode, the results of which you can see below. There is no sound, for if I had opened the window, he, along with the rest of the birds, would have flown off.
Since then, we have seen him most days strutting about the garden picking up seeds. Taz has given him a wide berth, which is fortunate for both. There's no mistaking his presence when he starts his korkk-korkking to warn Taz, in no uncertain terms, to keep away. He is the first of three surprise visitors we have had during the past week. I shall reveal the identities of the others in the next post.

Garden Birds At Barleycorn In Winter

In spite of the clocks being changed last October, so that it would appear to be brighter in the mornings, today was the darkest one so far this winter. It looked so inky black when I looked out of the bedroom window, I thought there had been a powercut.
After Cookie and Taz, the barn cats, had been well fed, and had been for their stroll around the garden, and were well ensconced in their cosy nests in the barn, my hubbie went out and filled the bird feeders.

Within seconds the garden was filled with a variety of birds which had flown down from their roosting sites to feast on the goodies. We were both busy watching their antics , when suddenly, as if by magic, large flakes of snow came fluttering down, changing the panorama from blackness into a bright, shining landscape.
Taz suddenly re-appeared to explore the snow, but his tummy was too full by then to be bothered by the sight of twittering birds squabbling over the pecking order at the feeders. As a lover of wildlife, I appreciate the presence of the birdlife in winter when there are less insects to admire and the ponds are frozen; so I have to make doubly sure Cookie and Taz are not around when the birds are getting their feed.
In spite of the thorny question of having cats in a garden, it is still possible to encourage birds to the garden and maintain the interests of both. The main thing is to make sure the cats are well fed first, before seeing to the birds.

While the snow was falling I stood, warm and dry, just inside the back door and took a few photos. Then I did the same from the front door, and from some of the windows in the house. The snowfall was too heavy to be out walking in, while trying to balance an umbrella to keep the camera dry, and take photos.

Besides, whenever I walk around the garden, regardless of the kind of weather, Taz follows to keep me company. Cookie does the same when the weather is warm. But, being an old cat now and quite frail, she seems to feel the cold in winter and almost hibernates in her downie, which is inside the drum of an old tumble-drier in the barn.

When we go to feed her in the mornings her little head pokes out from inside the drum to greet us...and when I stroke her, she feels so warm and cosy. She used to live in a different part of the barn, but, increasingly, we found her in the drum on a rug. So, my hubbie halved a downie and made two nests, hers and Taz's.

Occasionally, they come indoors, but they prefer to be out and about, roaming freely. Though they came of their own volition to live in the barn, and were not especially chosen by us as Baby, Jaffa and Monster had been, I am very fond of them. Taz is an excellent mouser, and both are friendly and very lovable cats.

Watching the birds, as we do, from our little 'hide', through the patio windows overlooking the back garden, the birds feel safe. Taz stays away when I am indoors too, so this position gives me the opportunity to take little videos as well as photos.

This morning was no exception, as you will see from the little video below. There was no sound save for the quiet ticking of our clock. If I had opened the windows the birds would have flown away.

Happy New Year, Everyone!

xxxxx

If you are a bird lover, the Royal Society For Birds (RSPB), is giving everyone the opportunity this weekend, 24 and 25 January, to participate in the world's biggest garden birdwatch. The details are below. Enjoy...and happy birdwatching :)

http://www.rspb.org.uk/birdwatch/takepart/tips.asp
xxxxx

'He made their glowing colours, He made their tiny wings.'

from: All Things Bright And Beautiful.

A Busy Turn Of Events

Since my last post, in late August, my husband and I have been swept along on a tide of events which has taken up the majority of our time and energy. People matter most in life, and in my book, family comes before everything else. When it comes to a choice between giving up our time when they are facing major difficulties and upheaval in their lives, or spending time writing about the story of the Barleycorn garden, without question, their needs will always take precedence.
Those of you who have been in the habit of reading the Barleycorn blog must have noticed how sparce the stories have been this year compared to the previous. This has been due to the amount of time taken up each week visiting my husband's elderly parents and seeing to their every need. Their frail health has taken priority over everything else in our lives, including our personal hobbies and interests.
As this year progressed, the health of my husband's step-dad deteriorated to the point where, for the entire month of August, we found ourselves travelling 80 miles every day to visit him twice daily in hospital. As if our lives weren't busy enough, we were also very busy, in the throws of preparing for a trip to France, where we were looking forward to participating in the wedding celebrations of our younger son and his new bride.

However, to add to our already busy schedule, and to complicate matters even further - bearing in mind there were only three days left before we were due to leave for Brittany - we received a very sad telephone call from the hospital, and found ourselves, therefore, madly rushing around, trying to organise a funeral. I'm not quite sure where the extra energy we need in times of crisis comes from, but we were certainly filled with enough adrenalin, from dawn till dusk on those three days, to make all the necessary preparations.

Around that time the weather had been poorly, but, on the day of the funeral the sun shone brightly. The Service of Thanksgiving was a happy one, for the eulogy, written by me, was full of humorous stories and concentrated on celebrating a life well spent. Late into the same evening, my husband and I did not forget our manners, and took time to express our thanks to many people, for we knew we would not have the opportunity to do so the following week. Three days later, we arrived in Brittany, feeling more than a little drained, but, happy in the knowledge we had been available to do all that was necessary and spare my husband's mum, who, at her time of life, would not have coped by herself.

After breakfast on the first morning, six of us decided to take a stroll. There we were, a happy little group, chatting about the beauty of the town with its picturesque houses, busy harbour and beautiful floral displays, when, all of a sudden, my left foot jarred, turning my left leg to jelly. I found myself careering along sideways, like a crab, at a speed of knots, trying to keep myself upright and prevent myself from falling.

Unfortunately, the pavement was sloping down towards a steep kerb and onto the road, where the inevitable happened. I landed on my left side with such momentum, I immediately ricocheted onto my back where I lay motionless for a minute or so. After a little while I felt able to be hauled to an upright position by the three strong men in our group, and after checking to see no bones were broken, I was able to stand.

From the fierce impact, I knew I would ache from head to toe, and I did. But, since I was able to walk, and everyone agreed it looked as if I had, at worst, nothing more than two staved fingers on my left hand, I determined to cause little fuss so as not to detract from the wedding celebrations, which were three days hence. We made our way to a nearby chemist where my hand was strapped up and, like a good Brownie, I used my scarf as a sling.

The next morning I awoke to a rainbow-coloured left hand, which I continued to nurse throughout the holiday, and a stiff, aching body, which I was able to ease with hot showers. Just as with the funeral, I was now blessed with an inordinate amount of adrenalin, coupled with the excitement of looking forward to the wedding and the part I would play in the celebrations. I am convinced both of these factors helped to give me an even higher pain threshold than normal, because, fall or no, I was determined nothing was going to spoil the wedding.

The day before the wedding we were visiting a nearby coastal town, when I happened to chance upon an old lady crocheting a pair of those dainty little lace gloves which Brittany is famous for - and perfect for disguising an unsightly hand. The weather, on the few days leading up to the wedding, had been a bit dull at times, with the threat of rain. But, in the morning, we awoke with excitement and looked up into a beautiful blue sky.

One of our favourite memories of the day was when my son and his bride were standing in the doorway of the church with the bells ringing, two Breton pipers playing merrily, confetti of rose petals falling around them, and that special glow of happiness on their faces. The bride was a vision of understated French elegance. Our son stood beside her, proudly showing the world his beautiful new bride. Her surprise for him was a rose, made from the tartan of our clan, in her hair. His surprise for her was the French tricolour ribbon pinned to his plaid. Both signified a new marriage, a new life together, a new merging of two cultures. They never stopped smiling the entire day. It was all so romantic! We were so proud to be there sharing in their joy.

When our holiday was over, I went to the Casualty Dept of our local hospital and had my hand x-rayed, just to be safe. I did, in fact, have a break between my ring finger and my pinkie. These two fingers were taped together and I had a plaster put on the following week, which then came off three weeks later. Since then I have been doing exercises, from my physiotherapist, to straighten my pinkie and make it mobile. Initially, I was unable to close my left hand and make a fist, as my pinkie stood upright.

For the three weeks the plaster was on, whenever I needed to be at the computer I used my right hand only to type and used a lot of cut and paste to save me typing the same information over and over again. During this time my husband and I received another call to say his mum had collapsed. And so we were on the treadmill yet again, travelling 80 miles each day to visit her in hospital.

With the accumulation of events, we both found the travelling more tiring the second time around. I was wearing my plaster all this time, so could not share in the driving. The bruising had started, two weeks after the fall, to come out all the way down the left side of my body, which had taken the impact of the fall. The weather was cold and raw, or blustery and wet. In the hospital nothing pleased my husband's mum. Everyone and everything was at fault. She had had enough, having nursed her husband for the best part of six years, followed by the month of hospital visits culminating in his funeral.

However, after three weeks she was allowed home. We then began travelling to her home, on a daily basis for the first two weeks, then, after that, thrice weekly to see to her needs. She progressed from the stage of us doing her shopping, to being able to come with us, to going independently. I had cleaned her house before she had gone into hospital and she was making great progress. Great, we thought. Breathe a sigh of relief. All's well with the world again.

But life is not that simple. I don't think I could make up what happened next! For fact is often stranger than fiction. When we got home from church one Sunday there was a message on our ansaphone to say there had been an explosion at her flat. We rushed down to discover water pouring down through the light fittings in four of the rooms. We needed wellies to wade through the mess!

We brought her home to stay with us till we ascertained the problem. It turned out to be a faulty gas coupling in the flat above which had caused a gas explosion and burst the water tank and all the pipes. It was good fortune indeed that neither of the occupants of the two flats had been hurt in any way. My husband's mum didn't seem too bothered about having to be moved to a new flat.

And so began the removal of her belongings, lock stock and barrel. She is happily ensconced in her temporary abode, with a beautiful picture window overlooking a park, till after the New Year. We are thankful she is well, and happy, and looking forward to a permanent new home, smaller than the previous one as she is now on her own. Being fiercely independent, she wants to remain in her own place and not live with us.

I did not imagine I would end the year writing about catastrophes in my life, rather than another episode in the life of the garden at Barleycorn. But, throughout all the disasters, I have never failed to appreciate the changing moods of the garden, which have sustained me and uplifted me. On dark days, when things felt a bit weary, the reflections in the ponds have charmed me. Being serenaded by the birds each morning has kept my spirits up. Jack Frost has sprinkled his glitter across the bare bones of the garden and created a magical landscape. Who could fail to smile and count their blessings living in a paradise such as this?

xxxxxxx

God's in his Heaven -
All's right with the world!

Robert Browning.

xxxxxxx

Plant list

Cotoneaster

Betula Pendula Youngii

Betula Pendula

Betula Ermanii

Rosa Fruhlingsmorgen

Berberis Darwinii

Cornus Alba Siberica

xxxxxxx

Click on each image to enlarge and read its common amd botanical name.

The Field Adjacent To Barleycorn

From the back garden at Barleycorn, we look across to the large expanse of the adjacent farmer's field. At one end there is an evergreen wood which borders the busy B road running past our house.
On atmospheric, misty mornings in Spring, eerie sounds echo across the field from the heronry in the wood. Herons are by far the largest birds ever to appear in any garden...especially those which have ponds...as our frogs know to their cost.
After harvest last year, the farmer sowed a crop of Winter barley, as opposed to the strain of barley normally sown in Spring. It survived under the blanket of snow we had in March.
In the month of May the stalks were lush and green and wonderful to look at through the tracery of our three silver birch trees. We leave this area free of planting to observe the progress of the crop, from first sowing to harvest.

In June, the heads of barley were clearly showing...and so were a few poppy heads from our garden. Nettle, creeping thistle, couch grass and goose grass seeds find their way into our garden each year.They are blown across the windswept landscape..and, this year, the opposite happened. Poppy seeds had been blown across from our garden onto the margin of the field.
I must say, I thought it added to the overall beauty of the field, with its maturing crop, and took me down Memory Lane to the days, when, as a child, it was a common sight to find poppies, cornflowers and marigolds growing along the margins of the fields.
When the crop was golden, just prior to harvesting, flocks of sparrows gorged themselves on the seedheads each day.
Every night flocks of sparrows fly in to roost in the eaves of our barn, which is adjacent to the barley field. The sparrows must have felt it was manna from heaven having food and shelter in abundance.
For me, it was another photo opportunity, as I love everything in Nature, from the humble sparrow to the colourful 'weeds of the field', which first whetted my interest in plants.
I am not sure how the farmer regarded the border of Shirley and peony poppies along his field. But, as I have tolerated his ' field weeds' with patience, I hope he didn't mind a few of my poppies.
Although we have had a great deal of rain this month causing many floods, and our local river to burst its banks on several occasions, there was one day dry enough, early in the month, for harvesting the barley.
Before nightfall, however, when the farmer had just begun to make his 'roly polies', the rain came down yet again..and, so the straw is still waiting to be rolled into circular bales.
Wind through the barley,
The song of the breeze,
Ephemeral poppies,
The tracery of trees,
Barleycorn - Magic!
A feast for the eyes.
Our little corner of paradise