Down by the river

Heat. Swifts (prints in stock). Delights.

The field is full of little tiny trees in their plastic pinfeather tubes now, so it does not have lapwings in it, which is a cause of some upset for me. Much like when I felt some pride when the tawny owls moved in, as creating a tawny owl territory is cause for celebration, but it also meant the bats left, because bats and owls are incompatible. You can like woodlands, and you can like lapwings, but you can’t have both in the same place. Quite late in the season I found out where they had moved to, but only because they were under threat; that’s the trouble with lapwing spotting. After the mating rituals are done, you only really see them when they are mobbing things; this time, crows. Even when I knew where the nests are and brought binoculars, it’s hard to see the little black head nestled far distant in the fields; they survived the crows but I don’t know how they fared in the heat. They might’ve fledged and moved on by now. I try not to assume the worse. I haven’t been checking up as much, as the weather has been hot, which means I have become largely nocturnal. We walk in the evening, by the river where the swifts sear the sky, cutting insects from the air.

There are some different bat species down by the river; the ones I know- the pips and daubs and most delightfully noctules. You don’t tend to see noctules at the lake till after midsummer, so I am exited to hear them. There are the ones that stay silent till they get right up close that I assume are brown long eared, and possibly some others that I don’t know well enough to recognise with a heterodyne detector. I’ve started to hear different sounding bats around college too, but they get drowned out in the melee of the all night lakeside bat party. I was hoping to get better at identifying unusual bat calls but I’m fairly useless. The detector was such a blessing and a favourite gift but using it makes me want one of those fancy ones you plus into your phone that tells you exactly who’s calling.

As an added birthday present (because it was my birthday on Tuesday), a tree next to the bridge is full of tawny owlets, who are always easy to find if you know what they sound like, which is like partially chewed dog toy. They are very, very noisy things, and I know them from when they nested by the lake and scared off all the pipistrelles. Later in the night I have the joy of watching them launch thier little bodies off into the night at they hop from tree to tree learning to fly. That brings the total of owl species I have watched fledging up to two (a new record. For me)

Here’s a video of noctules and owlets for your listening pleasure:

Workings

The swifts are back! Paper ones in my shop that is. And the regular ones but I can’t sell those ones.

Findings

When I water the garden in the hot weather, it seems like an endless task. You water, and it becomes dry; but I find it to be pleasant nonetheless. The early evening stillness, checking on the progress of the flowers; disturbing a slumbering bee, the hiss of water on parched earth. Same with weeding; the smell of the earth, the herbal smell of displaced plants, the sound of the birds. Garden chores are the sort that lend themselves to peacefulness; I begin to understand why some people enjoy it. And there’s a lot to feel grateful for; having a garden to water, having the water to water it with, having finally achieved a longstanding ambition of growing a peony flower larger than a pin prick. It seems better to feel grateful than to begrudge the watering.

Gratitude is a good thing, and it’s important to notice it when it arises naturally. A feeling of luckyness is good for the mental health. The mind naturally holds on the to bad and forgets to take note of positive things, and the current trend is to counter this tendancy with gratitude journals, but instead of reviewing the day to see where gratitude arose naturally, one or more things to feel grateful must noted. It might work for some people. For me it arouses the memories of being forced to write thankyou notes for presents I need not need or want in my life, or being told I had to praise Jesus because he died for me when I really didn’t ask him to.

On the forums, someone struggling with their gratitude journal asked what they should do? They were bored of writing that they were glad coffee existed and that thier car hadn’t broken down that day. I would recommend slowing down, paying attention and aiming low. Notice the world. In the city, I noticed a dandelion growing in a little deposit of soil in a crevice half way up a tree. Delightful! How nature finds a way. We can be glad, especially in this hot weather, for trees, for their shade and oxygen. For a jolly little weed showing us how to bloom in the difficult circumstances of continual tarmac. Paying attention is a gateway to all sorts of things, and tiny delights are free and never run out, like coffee might.

With this in mind, I have been keeping a note of these delightful things instead. A little reservoir of joy. I got the idea from the pillow book of Sei Shonagon who, in the 10th Century, kept note of delightful things. She also kept notes of distasteful things and hateful things, which I don’t really recommend, though it is interesting to know that boresome men pretending to know things they didn’t were a problem since forever.

It’s not that we should overlay our emotions with false positivity. I have been grumpy and there has been good reason for that, but in the midst of it all, there are still greenfinches pecking about on the lawn, teaching their fledglings how to forage. I’m sure most of you have noticed some ducklings recently; the ponds are full of them and I stop a while and listen to their little cheeps instead of worrying about work and politics and climate change. Just for a moment, a little respite. The implication you are grateful for small ducks is in there. I am too hot, and cantankerous, but here are some of this month list of delights:

A swallow sits on the phone line in the early evening; a glorious quarter moon shines behind her.

A red kite flys over the house trailing a branch still festooned with leaves, which puts me in mind of those planes that used to fly past trailing messages on a big banner, like come to Flambards, or Lizzie is 30! Happy Birthday!! I always liked those as a child.

While chatting with a fellow walking near my house I mention in my house we refer to the monarch as “Chucky sossagefingers”, and he replies that he has met Charles, and shook his hand and by god, they are massive. MASSIVE.

Finding a huge amount of rubber stamps at Oxfam. And buying some, obviously.

Song thrushes singing so vigorously in the woods that it sounded somehow tropical, and magical, the sort of thing that makes you stop and enjoy our woodland and appreciate it for the wonderful biosphere it is rather than overlook it in favour of more exotic habitats.

A little egret flies low, just above me, along the road as I cycled home from gym.

I remember there is a place in the neighbouring village that’s started selling good coffee, right when I realise I really need coffee. And I can get some, because I have finally managed to add my debit card to my phone. Deep Joy.

I found a moomin bag at the car boot sale for 50p. I use it to store my other boot treasures and have recieved a compliment on it before I left. Lucky.

I take an early morning walk on my birthday; but by 9am it is already 21 degrees, which is my maximum operating temperature. As I turn to go home, a noisy oyster catcher lands on the playing field and starts digging about, probing the dry earth for food. What I delightful birthday present! Though if I were an oysetercatcher in this weather, I would definitely be by the water somewhere else.

I have delighted you enough for now, thankyou xx