I have never watched Tiger King . . .

 

Male Bengal tiger. (Image source: newscientist.com)

It's true. I have never watched Tiger King, and I probably never will. Here's the problem - what I have heard and seen has left me with the fear that, should I sit down and watch the series, I would only find myself irritated by horrible people, keeping beautiful animals in poor conditions.

And it doesn't take that much looking to find the poor and problematic practices of these unaccredited breeders. 

There is a desire for the salacious, the tawdry, and the violent. And Tiger King promised that in spades, apparently. Indeed, the great appeal of the show seemed to be sex and crime. It's all I heard people talk about. Perhaps now, after a global pandemic that had us considering the ways in which we interact with the natural, and how we treat wildlife, we might see a more considered documentation of how the animals were kept. Though, I wouldn't hold my breath - we are spectacularly bad, it seems, at learning lessons.

This Guardian article takes a closer look at the show and the problematic practices of keeping captive tigers in "roadside zoos". And, as you might expect, it would appear that these animals are there to make money, and any arguments for welfare and the conservation of these animals pretty quickly goes out the window.

It has been shown that tiger cubs used as props for photos is highly stressful for the young animals, and, as National Geographic points out in this article, tiger cubs are "only economically (and legally) useful for a short time" - a period of about four weeks in their young lives. And, what happens to them after that? They might be used for breeding themselves, to continue the moneymaking machine. And, there is evidence that some of these young tigers are killed once they become too large.

A constant stream of cubs is needed for all those cute photos that grinning tourists want to take away with them, and how do you think that constant stream is going to be supplied? And what happens to those cubs when they are no longer moneymakers?

As for the argument that these "road-side zoos" are engaged in conservation . . . Well, that's just absurd. These animals are so blatantly bred for making money that the breeders create animals that cannot even be found in nature, and none of them would ever be suitable for release. White tigers, featured in Tiger King, are particularly susceptible to a number of health problems, and if they were to be released into the wild, and were they to breed with wild tigers, these problems would spread throughout the wild populations. White tigers are rare in the wild, but have been bred in captivity for, and I fear I may be getting repetitive here, making money. As for ligers, an animal which is the product of cross-breeding a lion and a tiger, they are not found in nature. In fact, lions and tigers live in different parts of the world. Ligers, like white tigers, are susceptible to health problems, and can require lifelong medical care. However, before even considering the poor health these animals are prone to experiencing, the very fact that they do not exist in nature ought to tell us something straight away - the idea these animals are being bred for conservation is a complete nonsense!

Did you watch Tiger King? 

Did you see any of the animals pacing in their cells? Did the enclosures strive to replicate wild conditions as close as possible? Did any of the animals stare? 

The answers to the above questions are quite revealing about the distress and poor conditions these animals experience.

Social media also has a lot to answer for when it comes to captive animals and exotic pet trade; it can be depressing going through the comment threads on some accounts.

"Don't be stupid. They are much better off there than in the wild."

Well, yes, the animals bred in captivity will never be suitable for release - they have been bred to make money and concerns for their natural wellbeing are clearly not a priority. But these animals would be much better off, they would live much better lives, in credited sanctuaries where their natural behaviours and needs will be met. 

Then there's the other implication to that statement above, one I have seen posted on social media - that the removal of animals from the wild is fine, because they will be happier in captivity than they would be in nature. This is a dangerous, dangerous sentiment. History is full of examples, revealing how when we interfere with nature, adding to it and subtracting from it, wider ecological consequences we had not foreseen can be catastrophic. This is, of course, common sense - the entire course of the history of life on Earth is a delicate but brutal balancing of the whole ecological system, with each living thing having a niche which it vitally occupies. When we wade in with our own ideas, we tip the scales and might just send the whole thing spilling over.

Between the choices of cruelty and kindness, choose kindness.

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The Nature Reserve and a Green Woodpecker

 

Cowslip; Primula veris. (Photo from personal collection)

The Nature Reserve

A path of dirt and stones runs through it, and either side of that path is the verdant green of leaves and stems and shoots. The grass, left to grow in the Spring, is dotted with whites, blues, and yellows of differing shades and hues. Trees have blossomed too with little white or pink flowers. When you breathe in deep, the sweetness enters you. Cowslip, Cow parsley, and buttercups. There are other things growing from the grass too, flowering, stinging, thorny things. Signs of little lives are almost immediately evident upon entry to the reserve - holes in nettle leaves made, I imagine, by caterpillars. And, moving further into the reserve, one of the ponds positively wriggles with little black tadpoles.

Minutes away, on foot, are the smells and noises of town life - cloying and greasy takeaway smells; the noise of traffic; drunkenness and chattering. But, here, the air is cool and feels cleaner. And it's quiet.

I sit on a wooden beam, part of a barrier, low to the ground, that borders the path, and separates the footpath from the meadow. It's a hard and uncomfortable spot to perch upon, but the discomfort is made bearable by the stillness and the peace. As I sit there quietly, things begin to reveal themselves, little by little.

Hill Rise Local Nature Reserve, Bedford, Bedfordshire. (Photo from personal collection)

The buzzing of flying things, bumblebees the loudest of all, and the songs and calls of birds are the first sounds on the air. Chiffchaff calls, Blackbird song, and a Robin's melodic cascade of notes too. The flap and flutter of a Woodpigeon landing on a branch before it tentatively comes to the edge of the pond for a drink. And then the call of something corvid from one of the trees, a crow. In the distance, there is the buzzing of a saw or some other human tool. A plane passes overhead, so does a pigeon. Sometimes, cutting through all the calls, flutters, and rustling . . .

Green Woodpecker

Green woodpecker; Picus viridis. A male can be told apart from females by the red streak beneath the eye, which males have at all ages. (Image source: rspb.org.uk)

To my ears, the call of a Green woodpecker is like a manic and mocking laugh. When walking alone in woodland, it can feel as though some spirit is laughing at my silly human thoughts and cares as I traipse through. Perhaps they are worth laughing at after all, those worries. Perhaps they are not quite so big a deal. The bird that laughs that laugh probably faces greater challenges than I on a daily basis, and it apparently does so without anxieties weighing on its mind.

More often than not, when I do see this bird, the largest of Britain's woodpeckers, it is as it flies from ground to branches, a flap of green and red. Unlike its relatives here, it spends much of its time on the ground, rather than in the trees. Its diet being made up mostly of ants. Disturbed, it makes off for the trees, and is very good at keeping out of sight. However, if you can stop a while, and be still and quiet, they might just reveal themselves.

The Green woodpecker is one of those birds that has the power to make me stop, with a gasp, and watch a while. Maybe because they are shy and keen to be away when disturbed, seeing them feels like a treat. Maybe because of their green feathers and red caps, reflecting the colours of lush plant life blooming in these Spring months. Maybe it has something to do with that haunting call. But then, maybe I shouldn't even analyse the why so much. Maybe I should just allow that wonder to be, not letting reason and understanding intervene and, possibly, rob it of its romance. Just let some of that childish fascination linger a little longer yet.

If, however, you would like to understand and know the Green woodpecker a little better, you can find more information about the bird here, on the RSPB website.

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The Study of an Urban Garden

 

The beginnings of this year's strawberries. (Photo from personal collection)

Through the French doors, and outside into the garden, on a bright and temperate Spring day. In pools of sunlight, warmth washes the skin. From the ivy choked borders of the garden comes the chitter and chatter of House sparrows (Passer domesticus). Beyond the borders of the garden, the other side of the ivy, the sound of rattling rails, a train shooting past. If one were to peek through the foliage of the garden's borders, they would see the train station's car park. Sometimes, the chattering, laughing, or calls of travelers intrude upon the desired quiet of the garden. Sometimes the thrum and pounding of music from some car. But the birds, mostly, continue their own chattering and chirping, through and underneath the less melodic noise of humanity.

Just outside the doors, I stand on hard concrete slabs of grey, a small patio. Bending down, I place a small plastic container - saved from some takeaway meal - on one grey slab. Inside, some defrosted garden peas - shiny little green orbs. Then I take myself to the tap protruding from the red brick wall, and hold a Jacob's cream cracker underneath running water, turning it between fingers and thumb. Water washes and splashes over my fingers, cool and clean and refreshing.

I crumble the cracker in my hand, near where I left the container of peas, forming a little pile of crumbs. Not a particularly nutritious food, but they are sitting in the kitchen, uneaten, and they will be taken up pretty quickly by ground feeders like Wood pigeons, Robins, and Blackbirds. They only get one or two crackers now and then, always washed under cold water, so that there is some moisture to the dry square snack. 

A container of oxeye daisies and common poppies, getting a bath; this allows them the opportunity to draw water up from the bottom of their roots. (Photo from personal collection)

Looking over the bird feeding station, I make a mental note of what has been eaten and what hasn't. Considering what I see, I think that, perhaps, I could stand to hang less peanuts on the feeding station than I did the last time - the birds seem much more interested in the coconut suet feeder and the suet balls hanging there. However, I remember, when I placed some peanuts on the ground the day before, they disappeared quite quickly, so maybe they are a treat for the Pigeons and other ground feeders.

On the grass, near the shelter of the ivy, and the small trees that the shrub has almost covered, I have a makeshift birdbath, which I have written about here. Gazing into the water, I see a little plant material, some dirt and detritus too. I know that this bath has been successful in attracting visitors. A female Blackbird (Turdus merula), in particular, I often see bathing in the water, shaking herself, splashing the water about. But I have also seen Woodpigeon, Robins, Dunnocks, House sparrows, and others, drinking and bathing.

Everyday I rinse the bath out, once or twice. Filling a watering can, I pour water into the bath, letting it overflow and wash out over the grass around it, just to keep the water clean, clear, and fresh. Hopefully, also, to lessen the likelihood of it becoming a hotspot for the spread of any disease or infection. Now and then, once a week or so, the bath is emptied of its contents and washed with soap and hot water. It's very important to keep these things clean, the places where the birds feed and drink.

Across the garden, on a branch just sticking out of the ivy, hangs a feeder. It's shaped like a cactus, though it is hollow, allowing for the entrance of birds, and for putting food inside that might attract them. The last time I filled it, I had put a sachet of oats in there, a sachet that I had taken from one of the kitchen cupboards. I eat oats infrequently myself, but the birds seem to like them. 

The cactus feeder is empty. I think on when I last gave the feeders a proper cleaning, and consider that it is almost time to undertake the chore again.

My cactus feeder, here containing suet pellets, not oats. (Photo from personal collection)

Looking back across the patchy lawn, short here and a little overgrown there - just perfect, in my opinion, I see a Dunnock (Prunella modularis) hopping around beneath the feeding station, picking at tiny fallen bits of something or other. I watch a moment or so, and a Woodpigeon (Columba palumbus) lands, near the broken cracker and the peas but, apparently spotting me, it flaps away again with fuss and flutter. A Blue tit (Cyanistes caeruleus), however, is not deterred by my presence, and lands on the coconut feeder. A few quick taps at the suet filling, and it's off again.

I check over my plants next, containers and pots of wildflowers, strawberry plants, and chili plants. Some Evening primrose (Oenothera biennis), for the benefit of night-flying moths, too. A little while ago, a pot of mixed wildflowers and a container housing Common poppies (Papaver rhoeas) and Oxeye daisies (Leucanthemum vulgare) were looking a little limp and wilted. To bring them back to life, I gave them both a nice cool bath (see picture above, previous to that depicting the cactus feeder). This gave the plants the opportunity to draw water, via the drainage holes in the bottom of the containers, right from the tips of their roots, and they really did perk up. After an hour or so in the bath, and some time afterward set in a cool spot to recover, they regained their verdant and vigorous appearance. I anticipate beautiful blooms in the coming weeks and months. I hope for them, and the visitors that they ought to entice.

Back indoors, I stop before heading back to my everyday demands, watching from a window. Without my presence, the birds emerge from the foliage, or descend from branches and sky. They figure out amongst themselves who gets what, and who gets what first. Through glass and wall, I still hear the chirping and chattering as they quarrel and call to each other. And, though I know they do not really care for my presence, and I think that is for the best, I feel a connection with them anyway as I watch them make use of this little space I have created. And I am proud of that space, and honoured by their being there. I think to myself, that's all they need really - the space, for us to step back, and just let them be, then they might be just fine. These tiny feathered things, delicate and yet so strong.

Finally, I have to turn away from the garden, and resign myself to all the business of being human . . .

Before you go, would you please consider supporting this blog with a coffee from ko-fi.com - the support keeps me planting, feeding the birds, and watering the flowers.

I resist ad space here, wanting to generate conversation rather than sales and clicks, and so, with my writerly ambitions, I ask readers to donate if they are able to so. In this way, without commercial links, I can write freely, without the influence of corporate or commercial parties.

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Natural Navigation - Tristan Gooley Interview

 

Tristan Gooley - The Natural Navigator. (Image source: naturalnavigator.com)

A love for the art of navigation has inspired a successful career as writer, navigator and explorer for Tristan Gooley, as he tells me, Philip Simons.

Tristan Gooley, writer, navigator and explorer, is The Natural Navigator - and, perhaps, Tristan's career could be termed a calling, since his love for "the wonderful art of navigation" stretches back to childhood. Sharing his passion for the outdoors and navigation, he runs courses online and outdoors (here), and he has written prize-winning bestsellers, in which readers can learn how to decipher nature's clues and signs.

Like previous of Tristan's books, his latest, The Secret World of Weather, which was released in paperback earlier this month, is all about connecting with nature and navigating the outdoors, using the clues and signs that nature reveals to those who know how to see them; in this latest book though, the focus is on weather and microclimates.

"I was a restless kid that liked putting journeys together," says Tristan, responding to a question I ask about the origins of his passion for nature and navigation. After a brief exchange via internet and email, I sit listening to the recording of Tristan's answers to my questions about his career, his responses polite and considered.

The Secret World of Weather by Tristan Gooley. (Image source: naturalnavigator.com)

"However," he continues. "I came to realise that, on bigger journeys, contemporary navigation is sometimes less interesting - it becomes screens, dials, and increasingly digital. So, in my twenties, I turned things on their head and became more interested in much shorter journeys, using nature as my map and compass."

Each of Tristan's books provides readers with the key to reading that map and compass. His latest, The Secret World of Weather, looks specifically at how nature lovers and outdoor adventurers can decipher the clues and signs of weather. "In this book, I was bringing together two things that are related. First, there is a collection of all the signs and clues that our senses can detect in terms of what the weather has been doing, is doing, and will do. From the bigger signs, to the subtler signs that can be found in, for example, cloud patterns, and wind direction changes.

"And then," continues Tristan, "there is a real forensic, and hopefully passionate, understanding of microclimates. The big idea in the book is that what people refer to as 'the weather' is not the weather we experience. I mean, for example, the information given out in forecasts is typically about weather that is happening 100 feet above your head, whereas what we experience is the weather as it has been altered by trees or hills."

Tristan tells me a little about how he conducts research for his writing. "When I am learning, I use a happy and mutually supporting triangle - there is my own personal experience and observations; there is the knowledge and expertise of other people; and, there is knowledge that has been written down," he says. "I can start from any of those points on that triangle, though probably the most fun and often used starting point is when I have observed a pattern in nature. And I rarely think that I am the first to notice these things, so then I research. Though, often, these patterns haven't been observed or applied in a navigational context. An example would be when I noticed a pattern in how ivy grows - I didn't think I would have been the first to notice the pattern there, so I turned to academic botanical research. I came to understand how ivy, for part of its life, grows away from the light, and then, for another part of its life, will grow towards the light. I was then able to take that knowledge and apply it in a navigational context, which I hadn't seen done before."

Tristan Gooley's The Walker's Guide To Outdoor Clues & Signs. (Photo from personal collection)

Tristan has spent decades reading and deciphering these clues and patterns in the natural landscape, and he has witnessed changes there. "There is a pressure on space in most parts of the world. But, aside from building, one of the most interesting changes has been quite recent - a greater interest in open spaces. Thanks to the pandemic, people were told that they could not go out, only for essential reasons, and when people were told they could go a bit further afield, they wanted to get out and see what's out there. And, in those semi-wild areas of the British landscape, there has been more people out there. Perhaps, with more people out there, the more people will care about these spaces that maybe they hadn't seen before."

When I ask him how he foresees the natural landscape of Great Britain changing in the future, Tristan returns to the subject of building homes and infrastructure. "There is a pressure on space and a need to build homes. In my part of the world, which is Sussex, but I have seen it replicated in other areas, I've noticed this pressure on space is leading to the authorities having to think very carefully about where development happens."

Tristan though sees reasons to be optimistic. "Towns and villages are growing, but there is a greater desire to establish parks and other spaces that can't be built on. There is some tension there, but there is a determination to protect spaces for nature."

How To Read Water: Clues & Patterns From Puddles To The Sea by Tristan Gooley. (Photo from personal collection)

Tristan's books have given readers the opportunity to read nature's signs and clues, which in turn has gifted those readers with the means to reconnect with nature. As he explains to me, it is about using landscape, senses, observation, and general information to see what is happening in our own patch. Returning to his recent book. "The best way to describe it is in terms of rain showers. The forecaster might say, 'There may be showers in the afternoon.' It's very general. They can't do much better than that but we, using our senses, can say, 'Yeah, I think it's going to rain on those dark conifers on the windward side of the hill.'" 

That, it seems to me, might be close to that primal connection with our natural world that long gone ancestors could have known.

As we wind up our Q&A session, I ask Tristan about the books he himself has turned to, and which books he would recommend to other budding navigators of the natural world. He tells me that, for an interest in navigation, there is Harold Gatty, an Australian navigator, and then there is Alexander von Humboldt, a geographer, explorer, naturalist. "Darwin has written some of the best accounts that combine adventure with curiosity, and a love of land and sea. But, as you might imagine, I am a voracious reader and I couldn't go through all those good books here. I am always learning - that's the fun!"

Books *

The Walker's Guide to Outdoor Clues & Signs is available here

Wild Signs & Star Paths is available here

How To Read Water is available here

The Secret World of Weather is available here

The Natural Navigator: 10th Anniversary Edition is available here

Just before you go, can I please ask that you consider supporting this blog with a coffee from ko-fi.com

I resist ad space, desiring to generate conversation rather than sales and clicks. Here there is nothing but the desire to discuss and explore matters ecological, environmental, and wild, without the influence of commercial and corporate binds. Just free and easy discussion, please. 

Everything here, my writing, my photographs, is offered for free, to anyone that wants to read it. In this way, information and conversation can flow, and it gives everyone an opportunity to learn, including myself, more about our natural world. In turn, this might hopefully spark ideas about what we can do to help it survive. 

If you are able to do so, please consider a donation to support via ko-fi.com, and thank you, to every reader and supporter.

*Disclaimer: this blogger is affiliated with bookshop.org because they support local and independent bookshops in the UK. If you make a purchase through any of the links in this article, the blogger might earn a small commission from the sale. However, the cost is not affected, and this has not influenced the content of this piece.

A Curious Case of Wilted Wildflowers

 

My planter of Common poppies and Oxeye daisies. (Photo from personal collection)

My endeavours as a gardener are very much in their infancy. It was only a few years ago, when I got myself some wildflowers for the benefit of the bees, that my interest really turned from theory into practise. It was only a few years ago that I had the space to do so. And, as you might know if you have read any articles here before, my interest in cultivating plant life has developed very much via an interest in nature, wildlife, and ecology. I have no desire for a perfectly designed garden - indeed, I have some troubled feelings about shorn lawns and too much tidiness. So, we can expect two things here. Firstly, my learning, how to best care for the plants, is still something new to me. Secondly, I am not interested in cultivating the biggest plants, or the prettiest, but just that they flower, and that they are there for nature.

Ever since stormy winds hit the UK some days ago, my wildflowers have wilted in their pots, especially the Oxeye daisies (Leucanthemum vulgare), which grow tall, and have really had a bit of a growth spurt since Spring brought more sunshine to the garden. They were sown last year, and have spent the last 360 or so days making themselves at home in their container. So, when they wilted, I was quite concerned - with Spring here, I am eager to see flowers!

Being in pots, because of not being able to plant directly into the ground (it's a long story), I pondered whether or not they might be a little too crowded in there, and that that might be to their detriment. Then I considered that maybe they might not have enough space below the soil to have firmly rooted themselves, and that maybe the winds had unsettled them. But really, I had little idea. Like I said, I am still learning.

A silly little bumblebee that I found, frantically trying to escape from my bird bath, and rescued - an example of for whom these wildflowers are there! (Photo from personal collection)

With concern for my wildflowers, wishing and wanting them to survive long enough that I might see at least some flowers this year, and that, in turn, I would see butterflies and bees busy upon them, I took myself to the internet for some research. I have seen these little green lives revive before, when I thought that they might be doomed, and I still hoped there was something I could do to bring them back to life. There was obvious damage to some leaves, but mostly the plants were still green and buds were evident at the heads.

My searching threw up the suggestion of giving the pots a little bath, that is, taking the pots, plants and all, and putting them into a container of water. The idea being that the plants would be able to draw water up from the bottom of the soil, through the roots, via the drainage holes on the underside of the pots. For smaller plant pots, all you might need to achieve this is a bucket, but with the container in which my Oxeyes and Poppies (Papaver rhoeas) are planted being more trough shaped, I needed something larger and more accommodating.

Thankfully, I have a large plastic storage box just sitting empty, a storage box that I have been intending to turn into a miniature pond, but I haven't yet achieved that. Thankfully. And so, problem solved . . .

One of the poppies that did make an appearance last year. (Photo from personal collection)

I took the plastic storage box, the sort you can purchase from anywhere that sells general homeware, and filled it with water from the tap on the outside wall. From there, I took the trough-like planter in which my Oxeyes and Poppies live, and put it into the water, the planter floating a little. And I left them a while; for me, the hardest part, wanting to be involved, doing something, but knowing the best thing is just to give them time and space. And hope that they find their way.

When I came back a couple of hours later, the planter was sitting on the bottom of the storage box, and when I lifted the planter out of the water it was noticeably heavier - reassurance that water had been taken up. With the planter out of the water, I put it in some shade, not wanting too harsh a sunlight to beat down on these plants, to subdue them again, as they sat in recovery. I then popped my small terracotta pot (pictured above) into the water since the flowers there had also been wilting. Again, after a couple of hours, I returned and removed the pot from its bath, again with that mixture of concern and hope.

This morning, when I came out into the garden, there was a noticeable difference. The renewal hasn't been total, of course. Leaves that were wilted and damaged beyond repair haven't sprung back in to glorious life, but the stems are less limp, the leaves are less wilted, and there is a general perkiness to them that was missing the day before. There is a verdant strength evident in the way that they stand today that wasn't there yesterday.

One of the joys that I have found in gardening is the surprise of just how resilient green life can be, how life can seem gone, only for a small green bud or shoot to make an appearance in the soil. It is remarkable. But, of course, life wants to live, that's a simple but profound truth, and if you give it a chance, and a little care, it will survive. Yes, it might be a little battered and bruised, and some things might have to be cut away, so that vital energy can be redirected, but it can still survive. Maybe even thrive. And perhaps there's a lesson in that, again, simple but profound.

So, there it is - if you have some plants that have wilted in their pots, maybe they just need a relaxing bath!

If you found this post useful, please do let me know in the comments, and give it a like and a share!

Just before you go, can I ask that you please consider supporting this blog with a coffee from ko-fi - the caffeine keeps me pottering around in the garden, and reporting back on what I find there.

I resist ad space here, hoping to generate conversation, rather than clicks and sales, and so it is the support of readers that keeps this blog going. I strive to bring you well-researched, honest, and well-written pieces, and with support from readers, rather than advertisers, I can write without the binds of commercial influence.

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Transcendent livestreams from the birdfeeders

 

Blue tit; Cyanistes caeruleus. (Photo from personal collection)

A little while ago, I began a little experiment. With the help of some strong tape, an inexpensive phone holder (one of those hands-free things designed to aid in livestreaming), and my smartphone, I set up a social media livestream from the birdfeeder station in the garden. It was all very makeshift, and it was very much for my own curiosity and amusement that I set this thing up - I just wanted to see if I could get a closer look at some of the birds out there.

My income is really quite low, so the equipment at my disposal is nothing highly technical or impressive.

The feeding station is a metal pole, stuck into the lawn, out of which branches limbs at the top, and from these limbs hang three feeders of various design. With one feeder removed from the station, I put the phone holder, with my smartphone in place, level with the feeder I wish to record, but with as much distance between the phone and the feeder as can be. Then, I simply apply as much black tape to the phone holder and the feeding station's trunk as it takes for the phone to remain firmly in place for the duration of the livestream. Like I said, it is very makeshift. But it works!

A pair of Blue tits negotiating a branch. (Photo from personal collection)

It is the Blue tits that most often visit the feeders I stream from, and all the other birds that usually visit stay out of shot. Perhaps they are unsure of the phone and what it is, or perhaps the other birds simply need more space, and are uncomfortable negotiating the protruding phone and holder. Indeed, I feel that this is a draw back, and perhaps it does hinder some of what I am trying to achieve, and maybe a more covert manner of filming would prove better. However, as I say, I only have what I have at my disposal and I am limited by that.

That is not to say that I am unhappy watching Blue tits on the livestreams. In fact, I love getting a closer view of these colourful little birds as they flit from the feeders, and then back to a branch somewhere. The vibrant blue of their caps and backs is beautiful, and the yellow of their chests is handsome. In these Spring months, they reflect the colours of the flowers that have been welcoming the season!

As the livestream broadcasts over social media, I sit and watch from a window. Always, on the livestream, the camera sees very little except for a feeder full of suet balls swinging in the breeze, in between brief visits, which is, of course, to expected. But, out of shot, there is much more going on. In the makeshift birdbath I constructed a while ago, a female Blackbird bathes whilst a Robin watches, waiting its turn to make use of the water. A Woodpigeon or two flutters in and searches the ground beneath the feeders, pecking at things unseen by human eyes, until something disturbs them, and they fly away with a flap and a clap and a fuss. Dunnocks also dot around underneath the feeders, much more at home feeding on the ground. In the meantime, the female Blackbird has left the bath and is feeding on berries in the ivy.

It's a busy and noisy urban garden, and some of the sounds the phone picks up as it records are as interesting as the sights. Whether it's birdsong or trains in the background, it definitely paints an aural portrait of this garden in an English town.

My makeshift birdbath, made from a planter dish, bricks for a little elevation, stones inside so that the surface is less slippery, and a piece of broken paving slab as a little platform. Not ornamental, but the birds appreciate it nonetheless. (Photo from personal collection)

I use this livestreaming technique of filming as a way to get a closer view of these birds whilst hopefully not infringing too much upon their space. And I do it because they bring me joy. There is joy in just watching them be what they are, and long may it be so, that they are here with us to gift us that joy.

I don't undertake these livestreams very often - how basic my set up is rules out anything but the most temperate of days, for a start - but if you would like to follow me on social media, so that you can see one for yourself, I will list my accounts below. However, it is on Facebook that you are probably more likely to see me go live. Twitter is geared more towards my writing endeavours than my pursuits in nature. Still, a follow would be appreciated if that's your thing!

If you do follow in hopes of seeing a livestream, be sure that your settings are set so that you get a notification when I go live!

Social media

facebook.com

instagram.com

twitter.com

The article I wrote on the construction of my makeshift birdbath can be found here.

Just before you go, can I ask that you please consider supporting this blog with a coffee on ko-fi.com - the caffeine keeps me watching nature and writing about it.

I resist allowing ad space here, hoping to generate conversation before clicks and sales, and this means that I can write freely, unbound by commercial restraints or influence. I hope that I write well here, and demonstrate care and consideration for the topic, because nature and wildlife is not just some academic interest of mine, it is something that takes my breath away and makes me stop still to watch a while.

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A work of art is useless. So is a flower.

 

Wild daffodil; Narcissus pseudonarcissus. (Photo from personal collection)

The title of this posting is taken from an Oscar Wilde quotation. He was attempting to make the point that the flower, like a work of art, has no practical use for humanity, that it does not guide or instruct, and that it simply brings joy. It blooms for its own joy, and from that blooming we derive joy also. Wilde also says that humanity might take the flower and sell it, therefore making it useful to people, but this has nothing to do with the flower itself, that this is simply a function forced upon the flower by humanity. This is not to say that Oscar Wilde did not think art and flowers important - he spent a great deal of his life surrounded by both - but he felt that not everything of worth had practical applications.

I have sometimes pondered, as I walk solitary countryside paths, lost in the flowers and the open sky, if part of nature's appeal to me is the lack of care for one another between us. For my part, I go out there and I fall in love with its beauty and its grace, I appreciate its intelligence and the interconnectedness of it all, but I know that there isn't really much there that I need in a practical way. Supermarkets, doctors' surgeries, scientists, and other human inventions have solved the problems that I might have turned to nature for. Of course, those inventions and the people that work in those sorts of places still need nature, for inspiration and resource. But it is no longer vital that I have the knowledge of nature that I am sure some of my ancestors carried in their heads.

For Nature's part, I am sure that she would prefer it if I were not there at all. Indeed, I see this in every animal that runs or flies from my approach. I see it in every step I take along a path worn that might otherwise be a stretch of flowers. I see it in the statistics that report ever decreasing numbers of almost everything. No, Nature does not require my presence to survive and thrive.

It is perhaps a very one-sided relationship that I have with nature. I go to her for the peace of mind, the joy, and the excitement that she gives to me. I hope that in my little efforts to grow a flower, or feed the birds, or take part in some citizen science project, that I am giving a little back to something so great. Though I am afraid nothing could repay what she has given me.

There is, of course, one thing wrong with Mr. Wilde's comments about the uselessness of flowers, and that is that he was only really considering the relationship between human beings and flowers in its most direct way. He wasn't thinking of how human beings benefit from flowers in the, sometimes tangled, interconnectedness of nature that is the basis for the study of ecology. We are all still, despite our sometimes apparent best efforts to remove ourselves from it, part of that interrelationship of all things. And forgetting that will be our downfall.

Common poppy; Papaver rhoeas. (Photo from personal collection)

My interest in gardening grew from my concern for pollinators, and how the loss of these fantastic creatures impacts other life. So, I planted wildflowers and watched them grow, discovering a fascination and wonder in the journey from seed to flower. Before that, my interest in nature had been almost exclusively in the apparently much more dynamic animal life - plant life was just a supporting player in the drama. What an idiot I was!

I now have a small garden that includes a mixture of wildflowers, containers that home Oxeye daisies and Poppies, strawberry plants, chilli pepper plants, and some Evening primrose. It brings me a little peace, some concern, and wonder in their strength and resilience. And their intelligence. Recent strong winds have battered my daisies a little, so I am experiencing some concern for them right now, but they are still green and standing, and I have seen these plants, with a little care, restored before. I hope that they are okay - I only planted them last year and have not seen a flower on them yet!

When I consider Oscar Wilde's comments about the uselessness of flowers, I understand what he means; he says that not everything that is useless has no value. We find joy in the flowers, even though they have no practical applications to our daily lives, or apparently so. And, perhaps, all those studies done since Wilde's death 122 years ago, those studies which have found there are great benefits to our mental health and wellbeing when we spend time in nature, back up what the Victorian author and playwright said - the flowers give us joy simply in their being, and for that alone they are of value.

Then, we consider the part of the flowers in the wider ecological sense and how they figure in our survival, just as they figure in the survival of other lives. And, in that sense, perhaps Wilde is proven a little wrong, and flowers are practical and useful after all, as well as being beautiful givers of joy and peace of mind.

Just before you go, can I ask that you please consider supporting this blog with a coffee from ko-fi.com - with writerly ambitions and a desire to be as independent as possible, it is the readers and supporters that power my writing here.

I resist ad space, desiring to generate conversation rather than sales and clicks. Here there is nothing but the desire to discuss and explore matters ecological, environmental, and wild, without the influence of commercial and corporate binds. Just free and easy discussion, please. 

Everything here, my writing, my photographs, is offered for free, to anyone that wants to read it. In this way, information and conversation can flow, and it gives everyone an opportunity to learn, including myself, more about our natural world. In turn, this might hopefully spark ideas about what we can do to help it survive. 

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Finding fledgling garden birds

 

Fledgling garden birds need less human help than you might think. (Image source: rspb.org.uk)

Spring is the season of young life and life renewed. And as flowers bloom and fruits ripen, butterflies and bees fluttering and buzzing between them, birds raise young in their nests. Some of us might even be fortunate enough to have nests in our gardens. It is a real joy to follow the journey from eggs to fledglings. At a respectful distance, of course.

But I have noticed, every year, concerning posts pop up on social media in spring time. Posts from people who have found a young bird in their garden, a young bird that appears unable to fly. They pluck the little feathered youngster up, pop it in a box, snap a few pictures, and pop a post on social media asking advice. All well intentioned, but, most of the time, not at all needed. Indeed, interfering in this way can be doing more harm than good for the fledgling bird.

When a young garden bird leaves the nest it is not wholly independent. They will have left the nest, literally stretching their wings, but they will not have entirely left the care of their parents. Think of it like this; when a human child leaves home, beginning their journey into independent life, they might still turn up at mum and dad's with a bag of laundry and desiring dinners, as they still figure out domestic life for themselves. In a similar way, young birds will remain in the vicinity of the nest, and the care of their parents, immediately after leaving the nest. This care after having fledged is vital to their survival and ought not to be interfered with, except as the very last resort.

If you find a fledgling in your garden, if you stop back and watch from a distance, you ought to notice that the parents are still coming back and forth with food, and caring for the young bird. There is no need for human intervention in this case. Only if the fledgling appears abandoned and the parents do not return should you seek advice from the RSPCA or a local wildlife rescue. There are some other instances when advice and help ought to be sought too. But only in those instances should interference be considered.

When to intervene

If you find a baby bird out of the nest and it is without feathers or only covered in a nestling downy covering, it has most likely fallen from its nest. Now, you can put the baby back into the nest, but only if you are one hundred per cent certain that you know the nest it has fallen from. Otherwise, call a local rescue or the RSPCA for advice and guidance.

If you find a fledgling that is feathered and otherwise fine but is in a place of potential danger, such as on a well-used path or a roadside, it would be a good idea to pop the baby bird into a safe spot. Underneath a bush or something similar. However, do not remove the bird too far from the spot where you found it, for the parents will be looking for the youngster. If there is no safe spot nearby, again call a local rescue for advice and guidance.

If a fledgling is in your garden, and you are a cat owner, be sure to keep that cat indoors until the fledgling has flown. This ought to take a day or two. If you are aware of cats in your area, you might want to keep an eye on the fledgling. But, again, be sure that any intervention is as limited as possible and does not hinder the parents' care for the young bird. When it comes to domestic cats, I have written a post in the past about how they interact with wildlife; you can read it here.

Some birds, such as Barn owls, would not leave the nest without being able to fly, so if you find a young bird of this species unable to fly, it would be a good idea to call the RSPCA or a local wildlife hospital for advice and guidance. However, generally speaking, interfering with fledgling garden birds ought to be an act of last resort. I know that they look fragile and defenseless, but they are living out a lifecycle that is quite natural to them and intervention from us can do more harm than good.

You can read more about what to do if you find a baby bird in the coming months here, on the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds' (RSPB) website.

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