North East Garden Wildlife

I've been spending a few days up in the North East as my father has been in hospital. What with hospital visiting and working full time the days have simply been a blur. No sooner have they dawned over the North Sea then the sun is setting over Newcastle, sun which at this time of the year is as strong and warm as we'd have in August. However in the few gaps of my rushing about like a headless chiff-chaff I've been doing some wildlife window watching.

My parents garden has always been good for wildlife. In the thirty plus years they've lived here no chemicals have ever been applied. Before that the two spinster sisters who lived here had let the garden revert for decades, and when my parents moved in it was impossible to get to the bottom of the garden. My parents have never liked a tidy conventional garden anyway - it is mainly trees, shrubs and borders which now are semi-wild as my father rarely goes into the garden now. The wildlife flourishes here, and with the garden being two hundred years old I'd like to think it has matured gently over time into a little mini nature reserve. As far as I'm aware nothing unique makes this 30m by 90m garden its home, but that doesn't distract from the joy I get observing what goes on outside while at the kitchen sink.

Take these jackdaws for example. This pair are now nesting in one of the disused chimneys. I sat in the garden one evening watching them fly in and out of the hole in the side of the chimney, while making a mental note to ignore this property decay. Each time they arrived at the chimney, one, which convention would suggest the male, (but I'm not sure as females also tail wag) would sit on the chimney pot, wagging it's tail as a sign of communication, while the other popped into the void to be followed by the first bird, but only briefly.  Then they'd both fly out sit on the chimney in the glorious evening sun and repeat this behaviour a number of times. The nest presumably is built and eggs inside, it is impossible to tell, though I'd have though the female would be nest sitting if that was the case. This pair may simply be late prospecting after all, with the tail wagging all part of a ploy to speculate in this real estate. But they are fun to have around.

I'd put a new bird feeder up as the old one had been trashed by the grey squirrel which has it's drey in the ivy covered rowan tree nearby.  I know these mammals are despised but I like them and this individual is as fit as a lop. I watched it last night sitting high on the pub roof next door. Suddenly it leapt into the large holly tree which dominates this garden. A distance of 3 maybe 4 meters, a crash into the branches and then a scampering up and along the branches out into an acer, then a jump into the rowan and disappeared. Brave little chap, no fear then of launching itself into the prickly holly tree. 

That holly tree itself is a micro habitat - we've long speculated how old it is. I'd suggest close on a hundred years as the trunk is about a meter in circumference, all gnarled and covered in those nodules older holly is known for. Over the years a magpie has nested in there, blackbirds and pigeons have foraged on the berries and it is also a place to watch holly blue butterflies. I can't remember the exact year I first saw holly blue in the garden but at that time they were spreading north and on reporting it to the local recorder, it was only the second or third record in this area. Most days this week half a dozen have be seen flying about in the sun. Along with a lot of bees and flies. Down at the lower end of the garden is a hawthorn which has been consumed by ivy, it looks like a huge green mushroom now. Stand there in the warm sun and the sound of hundreds of insects is evident from a gentle hum. Later in the year this will be a butterfly magnate. Oddly though while I've been here, aside from the holly blue,  I've seen no other butterflies or moths. That's probably observer error rather than lack of species. 

Next to the hawthorn is an ancient pear tree which is now in blossom. In the past I've seen bullfinch here, but not for many years since houses were built on the fields behind the house. It is a favourite spot though for the wood pigeon and often I've seen a sparrowhawk sitting here waiting to ambush, though not this week. One evening though I watched a blackbird nest building near by. Arriving at regular intervals with leaves or twigs it popped into the ivy and while I couldn't see exactly what was going on, the shuddering and juddering of the ivy gave the game away. A most enjoyable observation, which went on for at least half an hour as I sat in the evening sun with my mug of tea. I did think though at the time that while a good safe location concealed from most predators, the resident squirrel may have other ideas. 

However a lack of species was not my issue at 4.30am mid week. I'd had a restless night, thinking of this and that, so having woken I thought time for a cup of tea. Before heading downstairs and although quite dark still, I heard birdsong. I popped into the back bedroom where there are windows that open to almost the floor. As I opened them and sat on the window ledge the birdsong of a Tyneside conurbation dawn chorus hit me. The predominant bird was a blackbird, and as I listened there were at least three dotted about. But also in this soundscape, at least one song thrush, carrion crow, jackdaw, blue and great tit, and I'm sure a greenfinch, a smattering of house sparrows and a coal tit which are resident in the garden. A dominant wren added to the chorus as did a dunnock and later some passing herring gulls. No summer migrants yet. Dawn is getting earlier now and the soft apricot glow to the east added to the sense of peace and quiet after my restless night.

Yesterday however there was very little peace and quiet. The garden is home territory to a pair of collared doves with presumably a nest nearby. They sit for hours on the garden chairs cooing gently. But they are aggressive too. 

I'd discovered a handful of early Roman era crumpets lurking in the freezer, so having a sort out I threw them onto the lawn for the birds. First down the jackdaws. That was fascinating. I'm not sure crumpets are a staple diet of these birds, but immediately one hopped over and having quickly looked at it stood on it, before beginning to pull and peck at the crumpet - and of course standing on the crumpet meant it didn't move, clever. The jackdaw then moved around in a circular motion taking small bites on each pass. That was until the collared doves began attacking the innocent corvid. A bit of a tussle took place before the harrying doves chased the jackdaw away. All was calm, for a while at least. 

Half an hour later I heard a raucous commotion and looking out a carrion crow was in the garden eyeing up one of the crumpets. It was a matter of a few seconds before I saw the doves fly at the crow in a territorial attitude. Unlike the jackdaw the much bigger carrion crow was having none of this and before I realised it had either hit the dove with it's feet or its bill, but whatever had happened there was a flurry of dove feathers billowing in the air, with the dove flying off to look a little non-pulsed on the pub roof. Meanwhile its mate sat in the acer tree in an attitude of, I'm not going near that big lad. Calm restored once more the carrion crow picked up the whole crumpet in its bill and flew off, leaving a carpet of downy feathers as the only evidence of a battle.

Later in the evening this was repeated, but now with rook. Three rook dropped into the garden, with a similar number perched nearby. In came the doves cooing and flapping wildly. One rook perched on a chair was repeatedly dive bombed, a risky business for the dove given that a rook's bill is more like a pickaxe. The rook still perched on the chair but with its neck stretched upwards parred and stabbed at the repeatedly passing dove. Meanwhile the other two rook were making tidy progress with the crumpets. Eventually all three rook, presumably fed up with the collared dove, flew off while being chased by the doves who were still dive bombing the rooks as they flew away. The doves soon returned and sat on the table looking all innocent and delicate, cooing softly. 

Innocent and delicate, I don't think so. I know what goes on, I've observed all of this out of the kitchen window this week. So after all that, I think it's time for a bacon sandwich for breakfast.