The Bald Birder

Day 190

Saturday 26 September

Autumn and winter are the seasons of hibernation. Nature winds down to sleep out the cold and dark times. My blog is going to do something similar. I have decided that I will do a weekly entry covering a full seven days on each one, unless something dramatic occurs of course.

Just arrived. The wind is still howling outside. The sky is angry, and the dropping temperature makes my whole body cold. Time to venture outside briefly to stock the pantry shelves and settle down with a glass of red and beautiful book of classic ghost stories.

2pm We have been out for a bracing walk with Mabel and her sister Billie. Lovely to spend time enjoying the local countryside and chatting about this and that. The dogs running, full sprint, tongue lopping out of the side of a ‘smiling’ face. Their ears flapping with each gallop – fortunately no flying dogs today.

The wild weather continues to punish those that have already fallen. A tree was taken down during the night, the strong northerly wind bends the leaf-loaded branches of the half that stands upright and the half that lays across the water.

Closer still. Every tiny fibre visible. Looking closely at this I can imagine the sound of painful, splitting crack. Spitting like a firework.

A cup of coffee and a piece of cake bought from the stall next to the church. Wellies, muddy paws and cows in the fields. Tyson the bull is lying down, surrounded by his harem uninterested by the yaps of our dogs.

The colours of the season. A pot-pouri of wind stirred, autumnal flotsom.

Although this season brings jumbled mess in the countryside there is also order. The leaves swirl around the roads in random wind-kicked chaos only to change texture as the rain comes down and the cars and feet compress and smudge the litter. At the same time, the fields are ploughed with deep furrows in straight lines or gentle arcs running in tracks parallel to the hedgerow or path.

Parallel ploughed lines, repeating tyre-tracks and random potatoes. We picked up a few and took them home to make leek and potato soup for lunch.

There are still little jewels to be seen if I look out for them. Common Comfrey (Symphytum officinale) sitting amongst other damp loving undergrowth.

There are clumps of flowers sprinkled on the ground. Comfrey. A traditional name was Knitbone as it was believed to mend broken bones and ease bruising and sprains. Sadly, it actually causes liver damage.

Day 189

Friday 25 September

It’s a very Autumnal day today and it’s going to be a very short post. The Coronavirus numbers are heading in the wrong direction. It’s hard work at the moment.

The wind is blowing – I came home and went outside to fix a blown out panel from the greenhouse.

The temperature has dropped – I nearly switched on the central heating this evening. My rule is to avoid that until November wherever possible.

The cloud and rain has arrived – it was darker earlier and the wind and darkness outside was imposing. Fractured by showers of rain.

And I’m tired, really tired, on a Friday evening after a tough week. I have the news on the telly. The dog on my lap and a mug of hot tea in my hand. I’m thinking of my book and bed. Reading a ghost story whilst the wind howls around the house.

Day 188

Thursday 24 September

Just a couple of days after the Autumn equinox and the weather has turned. On Sunday I spent a few hours in the hot sunshine getting a bronzed face and head in the process. Today the sky was thick with showery rain with allday precipitation.

Only crows and rooks on my drive to work. They seem to be unphased by the soggy conditions. In fact, they seem to revel in it. Gathering together in ever increasing numbers, their packs multiply on roughly ploughed ground. Worms aplenty but they’ll eat almost anything.

Eating dinner this evening I was dive bombed by a crane fly. There are loads of them around indoors.

I am aghast of the awe and wonder of nature. We all are, right? The variety, the resilience, the near perfection of every species and it’s remarkable inter-dependence and interaction with others.

Then there’s the Crane fly. This gangly insect seems to be so badly designed it looks like a creature made up from left over parts once every other insect was ‘made’.

The Eurasian Crane Fly (*Tipula paludosa)* ventures indoors in the autumn.

The legs and antenna appear too long, the wings seriously inefficient. They are too loud with their ridiculous dull buzzing hum; interspersed with clangs and pings as they bump into light shades, bulbs and windows.

Their common names are well-known. The larvae, or ‘Leatherjackets’, feed on the shallow fibrous roots of plants often seriously damaging crops. Farmers and gardeners are not fans. The fly form is called ‘Daddy-long-legs’ but must not be confused with the spider of the same name.

A common myth is that they are the most poisonous insect of all but cannot use their venom due to lack of sting or mouthparts. They actually contain no venom. Another is that they live for one day and must mate on that day. They actually live for a couple of weeks but do attempt to reproduce as soon as they emerge from the pupa. They tend not to eat but may drink nectar from flowers.

What a beautiful, wonderful mess.

Day 187

Wednesday 23 September

Although I have started refereeing again on a Sunday, I am missing the walks I would be doing with the Gentleman’s Film & Leisure Club. Sadly, I need an additional day in the weekend.

When you’ve been walking a while it’s always encouraging to come across a sign to show you have been heading in the right direction.

I love packing my backpack, getting my boots on and researching the route beforehand. The preparation is all part of it. I know it’s hardly scaling Kilamanjoro or trekking to the South Pole but the process is similar(ish).

I love the signage that keeps the walker on track. The little plastic disks that are screwed on to wooden posts along a route are often identifiable from distance. All are heartwarming to see as they reassure you that you have taken the correct turns and will not need to back track.

Some public footpaths combine to make a longer route of interest or with a theme.

You never see the people who put these up or maintain the wooden posts they’re attached to. The fallen are propped up by well-meaning ramblers against shrubs and hedges.

The striking and identifiable designs and artwork are little wonders of their own. But they also carry a code in their colours. Yellow arrows (the most common signs around the UK) mean the paths are for walkers only. Blue arrows indicate bridleways whilst red arrows indicate walkers, horses, cyclists and motor vehicles can use the route. Acorns show that it is part of a national path way.

The yellow arrow signs indicate that these routes are for walkers only.

Juxtaposed alongside the little oblong cards I use in refereeing football matches. Yellow means you need to ‘watch your step’ whilst red requires you to take a short walk, off the pitch.

Oh, and a word to the wise. Trespassing cannot be prosecuted as it is a civil offence not a legal one. As long as you don’t damage anything.

Day 186

Tuesday 22 September

Tension is certainly growing across the country. Some people are getting more anxious, others more critical and frustrated.

The prime minister has been on the telly again this evening to address the nation. The last time he did this was to update us in the middle of it all in May. Before that it was to announce the lockdown back in March, almost exactly six months ago.

The sun dips on the evening of the Autumn equinox.

I have learned that it’s natural for me to seek natural distraction in times of stress. I had a relatively short drive into Colchester through the Ardleigh lanes to work today. Along a single lane my path was crossed by a magpie, pigeons, a number of crows and what I think were a darting flock of long tailed tits.

Then on the way home, I laughed out loud in the car as weasel ran across the road carrying what I think was one of its kitts. They occasionally have a second brood in August and the youngster did look pretty big. It might have been carrying some prey I guess but I’m going on the parenting option. It looked funny as it scurried across in the late afternoon sun. The shadow on the road making it look wider than it was.

These apples smell sweet and warm. They are only days from being picked. Such a comforting aroma.

Then a walk in the orchards behind our house again felt and smelt so Autumnal. The spell of good weather we have had over recent days warms the apples during the day. As the evening cools, the sweet smell radiates from the fruit like heat from the sun.

It’s the Autumn equinox today. At 2.30pm GMT the sun was directly above the equator, one of only two times in any year. This also means the day and the night are if equal length. In pagan tradition, the autumn equinox is known as Mabon and is when thanks is given to the summer and respect is offered to the on coming autumn.

Day 185

Monday 21 September

It is getting harder to write this blog. Since returning to work I could fill each day with what has happened or popped in my head. I do see the occasional flash of wildlife but it’s mainly work stuff.

As I left home this morning, the fog had laden this shabby spiders web with water droplets.

Despite the fact that mother nature is doing her ablutions before getting ready to go to bed, there are still interesting things happening. But they are harder to find.

I wish I was out walking. Having time to stop and scrutinise, to find the detail under leaves, beneath branches. One thing is for sure, I will not take for granted any time I can spend out and about.

What an awful picture. Blurry because the light was so poor when I walked with Mabel this evening.

But this morning I started in our drive hearing the heavy droplets of water dripping from the oak tree onto the drive way and leaves of shrubs beneath. The fog was heavy this morning, the moisture condenses on the leaves and drops in pretty big plops.

The day ended once I got home with a brief walk with Mabel around the apple orchard that backs on to our garden. The first of this Autumn. And on the eve of the Autumn equinox.

This was after attending a parish council working group meeting with Stan. And then completing criminal records checks for our local amateur football club. I purposely haven’t mentioned the hard work that was sandwiched in between, focus is certainly turning to Plan B and how we will keep learning going in all sorts of possible scenarios that may be heading our way soon.

Day 184

Sunday 20 September

I heard the Little Owl this evening! I have seen it only once over the whole summer and haven’t heard it at all. During the world cup a couple of summers back I saw or heard it every evening as I took a walk after each game.

The golden crustose lichen (Caloplaca flavescens) on an Oak.

Of course, I say ‘the’ Little Owl as if it’s the same one. An old friend that I have emotionally attached myself to. It may be the same one from the other summers, but could very likely be new. The truth is, it really doesn’t matter. It was great to hear it and as our walks will take place in dusk and twilight, hopefully we will see and hear more of it.

The lichens and mosses on the trees and fallen branches are becoming the next distraction as I walk. They absorb carbon dioxide and pollutants and purify our air. Naively, I bagged lichens and mosses together, one was chubby, the other flat. They are of course very different, they’re only commonality is that they grow on things that most other things can’t or don’t.

Common Greenshield Lichen (Flavoparmelia caperata) on a fallen Hornbeam.

Lichens don’t need to root anywhere and are usually the organism that pioneers any lifeless place first. When a volcano erupts, wiping all life from its slopes, lichen is usually the first visible inhabitant. For this reason they are commonly considered the oldest living organisms on the planet.

I love that as my blog-year progresses (and I am at the halfway stage right now), I keep finding new natural fascinations. New features of the world on my doorstep that I knew of, but not about. Lichens and mosses, your next.

Day 183

Saturday 19 September

8.45am Lisa has just brought me a cup of coffee and I have woken this morning with a few things already clear in my head. I don’t think they are linked to anything subconsciously that I may have been dreaming about. But they are worthy of me writing down.

First, the Humming Chorus from Puccini’s Madame Butterfly is playing out of the hifi in the back-room of my brain. Beautiful if a bit random. It is providing a gentle distraction behind the other things that are popping about in there. It is there, I am sure, to provide an emotional backdrop of calm and reason. This morning, I have realised that it is definitely the uncertainty and threat from Coronavirus that is producing my uncharacteristic anxiety and stress. At work though, not in my own life.

Our job (teaching and education is a real band of brothers occupation – for me it is always a collective experience) is hard work. People repeat the clichés of the ‘long holidays’ and the ‘lefty-moaners’ and let them. This work is hard. But I love it and wouldn’t want to do anything else (well maybe one or two). That’s a throw away remark but I love that I work with (mostly) like minds and with kids who come with energy and a slant on the world that only youth allows. But it also comes with its challenges; some practical, many emotional. It’s hard enough when there is no global pandemic, but add that and the pressure and workload more than doubles. Safety and risk are what we are constantly talking about. How much can we loosen the reigns? What if that test is positive? What is our Plan B? If/when we are locked down again how will we maintain teaching and learning? How will we be able to keep our pupils safeguarded? The list of questions and challenges goes on and on and on. And none of them are small.

So, I am gaining clarity this morning. As I lay in bed, the pigeons gently coo-coo outside the bedroom window. Gentle bubbling sounds from Goldfinches followed by a blast from another Robin. Even their sounds have a more relaxed weekend vibe. I am clear that my stresses of my work and my week lead me to see the world around me through a more negative filter. Sounds obvious to me now, but not so when I’m in the middle of it. So, pre-armed is prewarned and all that, I must take this clarity with me into next week.

4.30pm It has been a beautiful day. We went to the beach for a couple of hours. Took some milk to be able to make a cup of tea and gave Mabel some time to run on the sand. The wind was whipping up the incoming tide to create some pretty wild waves. A cup of tea, a couple of digestive biscuits and a good book. It doesn’t get much better.

Frinton-on-Sea. A mug of tea. Two digestives. One good book. Simple things.

The garden is so much quieter. The trees are losing their leaves and despite the fresh breeze, there is notably less noise as the wind blows through the branches.

Day 182

Friday 18 September

Morning. This blog is a real weather vane for how I am feeling. The past few days I have been increasingly tired and world weary. I am not a worrier, but recently I have worried about worldly things, local things and people I care about. The virus, the natural world, the general fragility of everything.

The crows are gathering. They have a negative press but they were a pleasent sight this evening.

This is born out in what I have written and how I have written it. That’s a good thing I guess. It’s often said how healthy it can be to share your feelings, get it down on paper. “Write down your worries then throw them away” was some cathartic advice offered to me in my teens. Well, I can’t throw this away but reading back on previous day’s, both positive and negative, has been insightful. I am sure, on darker days, I will use the early posts to lift my spirits and remind me that nature is cyclical. The spring will return with its bag of colours, energy and life.

‘Mental health and wellbeing’ has become a big topic of recent years, particularly in schools. I feel I now try to diagnose my feelings but, again, that’s a good thing, I guess. A bit like googling about a rash on your neck to see what it might turn into or have been caused by. I am going to avoid scurrying down that rabbit hole. But I am sure it is wholesome and healthy to keep an eye on how you are feeling.

Later. So, all of that what from first thing this morning. Before work. Now it’s the evening and it’s the weekend. It has been a good day, but another tiring one. The news is dominated by the rise in the daily number of confirmed cases of the virus. It’s consistently around 4000 and rising. Doubling about every 10 to 14 days. 1 in 5 people in England are living under some local restrictions.

The Yellow Rattle (*Rhinanthus minor)* is still holding on in the odd spot along the hedgerow.

But. I came home and took Mabel out for a walk. The sun was low in the sky and casting a rich marmalade glow on to the trees and shrubs in the hedgerow. The crows are accumulating in the fields cawing and mingling in increasing numbers. Its oddly comforting. Earlier in the week, I may have seen them as quite threatening, scary. But today I see them for what they are. And on the other side of the lane, a Robin tweets a light and twinkly tune. When in need, those feathered wonders have come along just at the right time. I am feeling a lot better this evening. Thank you, Nature.

Day 181

Thursday 17 September

This blog has taken a few twists and turns since I began writing it back in March. As we move into a new season, it is clear to me that the big world affects my little world. At times I have tried to resist it, push the angst and frustration away, thinking I am in control. To a large extent, I have been successful. But the effects have not been obvious.

Dead trees start to grab my attention now. Leafless branches foretell the future as autumn and winter approaches.

During lock-down, the frustration was a shared one, fuelled by a sense of helplessness and isolation. After lock-down we were licking our wounds and rebuilding trust in each other and the new behaviours we had to all learn to follow. Most lately, it has been a sense of desperation that has created the unease, and a sense of impending threat that the virus will be back – when rather than if.

But as has been obvious to me in recent posts, the move from summer to autumn has provided the ideal backdrop. The spring and summer enabled nature to sparkle and shine. There was always something new to see and comment on. The clear phases of nature provided new themes; birds and trees, birds and wildflowers, more birds and insects.

Now everything is leaving, dying-back or disappearing. The energy of new growth and new birth has been used up for another year and my small, local world is weary and tired. The bigger world is tired to but angry, resentful and seemingly, looking for someone to blame all the time.

Barley fields to battle fields in just a few weeks.

This is shifting my attention to the gloom and fear that my small world is presenting now. The sudden weather changes, the swiftly dropping light levels, the lack of natures happy sights and sounds. Instead, the land and the landscape is offering only broken branches and fallen trees, fields with dried out stubble where just a few weeks ago there were ripening crops.