Tag Archives: Peewits

Day 49

There are some very long-lived people resident in Norfolk; the cool climate is clearly a contributor. Like living in a massive fridge, the chill stops one from going off, perhaps. I struggle with the dichotomy of clear blue sky matched with being perpetually cold. It is also true of this neck of the woods that there are few residents, apart from at weekends and during the holiday seasons, so those who are permanent are clearly hardy, adaptable folk.

I heard a remark today that captures an essence of this period. “The days go by so fast, but each day is so slow.” Something very strange is happening to our experience of time. 

Today is another Wednesday. It is the fiftieth day of writing about what I am witnessing here, but it still all seems new. Perhaps this practise of writing something about each day keeps it so for me. The gradual emergence of Spring comes later here in comparison to the southern coast. I have an opportunity to note the natural changes as they arise.

I sense the changing tilt of sunlight in these days between Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice. This time when days lengthen and shadows shorten has often been lost to me before. School and then study and then work have always been busy during this phase of the solar cycle, so I am blessed to be able to immerse myself in it this year. 

It is less than six weeks to Midsummer’s day, (just 46 days) and from then the days will shorten, the shadows lengthen. Of course, the air will be warmer, the soil heated and the long tail of Summer leading into Autumn will pass through some blissful days, but it is this phase, when each day is brighter and longer than the last that is the time of renewal, growth and hope. I pray that I am able to appreciate each one, as and when each arrives.

In the sunlit evening, I put on a thick, windproof jacket, zip it to my chin and step out into the blustery air. I do not treat the walk as exercise, but as a stroll. I take my time to move within, rather than through the landscape. This allows me to see the muntjac deer before it hears me coming, to enjoy the leverets chasing each other, to watch the rabbits nibbling and to study the hedge birds hopping about from branch to nest and perch. In one instance, in the wood on the hill, two young rabbits come towards me. I halt my gentle pace and am able to watch them for a few undisturbed moments before they amble off under the brambles.

This Spring I have been able to see the difference between blackthorn and hawthorn by the time of their flowering. The blackthorn is turned to green leaves before the hawthorn’s May Flower sprouts. The blackthorn covers large areas of the escarpment below the heath and when in blossom presents a picture akin to a dusting of snow. The hawthorn trees are more dispersed and so there is no blanket coverage to wonder at, but the hawthorn explodes into flower when the right conditions arrive, which here, this year come at the very end of April and now, the first week of the May.

I eventually turn onto the coast road, edging the old salt marshes. It is mayhem out there. Various hatchlings are out and parent birds are fighting tooth and claw to protect the young from marauders. I have mentioned the birds of prey and the carrion before, but now gulls are more commonly seen too. The larger gulls are not averse to adding eggs, or young to their omnivorous diet. The peewit parents exhaust themselves in defensive duties. It is now that their speed and agility in flight becomes vital to the survival of their species.

Another more commonly seen bird, overlooked and unremarked on because of its modest size, is the pied wagtail. There are several active around the Green at the bottom of the Purdy Street. These birds with jerky, clockwork movements are happy catching small insects. Sometimes they flitter a few feet into the air, almost in a hover, to catch something, at other times they walk restlessly, pecking to left and right at the ground for easier pickings. When they stand still, tail wagging up and down, with short, sharp, black beak pointing slightly upward, they are preparing to fly. 

They seem to need a moment to compose themselves before springing into the air and making their way on an undulating flight path. They land with a silent splash of black and white, often not far from the point of lift off, before resuming their mechanical-toy movements. The pied wagtail emits chirpy notes as it goes about its business. Just enough to attract attention, not enough to call a song, although they do have songs in the repertoire.

At last an evening with some play – dominoes. This is a game that allows some conversation and distraction. It is not overly competitive, because of the luck of the draw, but a game that allows gentle conversation, whichever variation is played. I teach my sister two new variations and remind her of a third. An enjoyable evening.

After your on-line choir we talk by telephone for well over an hour, in fact until well-past midnight. I fall asleep exhausted, you find sleep eventually.

.

Christopher Perry

5th May, 2020

Day 36

While still strong, the wind is not so cold today. It is another day that is cloudless.

The association of April with rain being delivered in re-freshing, short showers is far from the truth this year. The winds driving in from the east and the north are bitter and dry. Their strength and persistence challenges patience and good humour. They force us to seek sheltered spots when seeking some sunshine, to carefully consider the route for walks, or cycle rides. It is best to bear the brunt of the wind on the outward route and plan a way back following the lee of a hill, or through woodland.

With everyday similar to the last, identifying differences between days helps keep a grasp of time. The most obvious difference is the lengthening hours of sunlight.

Without cloud it is quite noticeable how long it takes for the last light of the day to finally fade. Only Venus is visible against the cool of the stretched evening sky before the other stars and a passing meteor shower can be seen. In the morning the first clacking, squawks of the loose game birds gets earlier and earlier, when they respond to an initial crow’s caw, coughed up from the rookery on the hill.

Shadows in the middle of day are shortening and the amount of sunshine reaching the woodland floor is gradually being reduced as the tree canopy spreads. But it is not so shaded under the oak trees as to explain why a tawny owl would be sending out a plaintive hooting at just after nine o’clock on such a luminous morning. I heard a single call and thought I may have been mistaken, until the full, echoing call resounded through the trees.

It was an incongruous sound in broad daylight, but no less out of place than hearing a car alarm whistling in the mid-morning. Military aircraft, agricultural machinery and the postman’s van provide most of the mechanical soundtrack out here and these are rare enough. Birdsong and the conversation in gardens and across fences are the most common sounds that break up the backwash provided by the waves and wind.

In late afternoon I note that there are now two swallows sitting on the telephone wire. They are matched by a pair of goldfinches. These birds rarely settle for long. They are twittering constantly, fidgeting and jumping off to new perches at the slightest excuse, perhaps I should adopt one as my emblem? These unsettled years no longer seem temporary, but the way life has become for me.

On the last of the marshland to the east, there is a small, artificial lake . It looks natural enough; it is ungarnished apart from its island. The place is thick with small flies and numerous sand martins have come to feed on the wing. They chirrup as they swoop in delightful loops, arc back to return toward the surface again and again, skim the very skin of the pool, marking it with a splash from their contact, but so slight a mark that the water does not seem to even ripple after they have passed.

On the grassland and the hillside facing the setting Sun, hares sit and enjoy the warmth on their fur. They hold their ears up, always on the alert to possible danger, so look permanently startled. These nervous creatures need little excuse to tear off in panic. They rarely run in a straight line, preferring long curving sprints before suddenly switching direction, dust clouding their exit. I lose count of how many are out and about this evening. All they seem to do is sit, unless they are running away from something, or chasing off another of their number who has inadvertently loped into the wrong territory. What are they closer to, mice and rabbits, or dogs and wolves? When they run they move like greyhounds.

The strong winds are not a struggle for everyone. To appreciate this fully, one needs to witness a lapwing playing out a noisy display of stunt flying. Their squared off wings enable them to make spectacular turns, dives and climbs at speed which are the very epitome of random. Fascinating enough these complicated patterns would be on their own, but these demonstrations of agility are accompanied by a piping, tuneless calling which is as unpredictable as the flight manoeuvres. The peewit whistles like an ancient wireless radio set being tuned in after dark; all pops and whistles, whines and squeaks.

It is these moments that bring difference to the days. This is nature filling in for the absence of April showers, who would have previously been providing the seasonal variety.

Christopher Perry

23rd April, 2020