Wednesday 31 May 2017

The Last Day of Spring

That's what it probably was today . . . it all depends, of course, when you choose to start summer. The calendar first day is 21st June, but meteorologists and many naturalists tend to go for June 1st, which makes it easier to keep records, as your season starts at the beginning of a month.  Having said that, Springwatch has only just started, which means for the most part perhaps it should be labelled "Summerwatch". Seasons start at different times for different creatures, as for different people. Some summer migrants haven't been here long - the swifts that are screaming across our skies, for example, or spotted flycatchers. Resident birds and some early migrants like chiffchaffs may well have raised a brood already, and our garden has already seen its share of young blackbirds, blue tits and coal tits.

This has been quite a warm spring, on the whole; and dry, too, though the last couple of weeks have put some water back in the table. The forecast I saw for today suggested the occasional shower. In fact it rained here for much of the afternoon. Winds were light, maybe we were just unlucky - or lucky, everything is still growing apace, and the water is much needed.

Crow, as we call him, because he is, albeit with white wings and a rather hang-dog expression, is still around our garden. He is very shy and cautious, and can't fly at all well. He will sit in a tree above our feeders for ages before daring to come down, and then doesn't stay long on the ground. He has his own route - on foot - back into the wood, and then you hear him climbing bit by bit back up the tree. I managed to persuade him to come down and eat some scattered grain this morning. It's not much of a life. I notice Springwatch tonight features a woodpecker with exactly the same designs on a blue tit nest as ours had, and suggested they wait until the chicks are almost ready to fledge before striking; sad, but that's how nature works.

Summer tomorrow, and a warm day is promised! To close, a bee on one of our rambling roses . . .


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