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 . . .
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