The blue tits fledged yesterday. They have flown the nest. We know of three – Sylvia, SJ (Sidney Junior to Sienna) and Stephanie. There could well be more but we can only verify three. Sylvia fell out first at about 10.30 a.m. Not on the cushioning of the freshly placed bark chippings but straight onto the gravel. Beak first. Then SJ followed swiftly after. Same route. Stephanie stayed at home much longer demanding loudly to be fed. Sylvia flapped about a bit between the potatoes and the onions. Then after a quick feed from Sienna flapped into the safety (or danger if the cat is about) of the wildlife corridor. SJ decided to explore next doors garden seeking sanctuary through the gap behind the miniscule fruit trees. OMG. I hear a strimmer and fear the worst. Heart beating I realise it’s the other neighbours. Thank goodness for that. The thought of SJ being strimmed to death so quickly after leaving home was just too much. The good thing about having a hangover from hell yesterday was it meant we stayed at home all day observing the bird life, talking photographs and for Him Outdoors learning more about blue tit behaviour. He was obviously concerned for the safety of the fledglings, they looked almost too small to be on their own. Him Outdoors was reassured to learn that they do tumble out of the nest and don’t properly fly for sometime and it takes around four weeks before they are fully independent and able to food shop for themselves. Stephanie remained in the nest box all of Tuesday and we think into today. It’s hard to say without having a camera on the box. Can you imagine though the nightmare of having at least triplets and each one being metres apart? Trying to feed and care for their safety, day and night. It is hard enough caring for one child safely strapped into a Mothercare high chair. I am sure if Spring 2020 had been ‘normal’ then we would have been more than thrilled with the nesting blue tits but only in passing. Due to lockdown they have become a big part of our daily life over the last few weeks. Better than brooding over not seeing No. 1 Son for 101 days. Trying to make sure there is water in the bird bath and a constant supply of juicy fat balls. Trying to keep them alive when danger lurks everywhere. We had a moment of terror this morning when several jackdaws made their way into the tree, then one climbed down onto the bird box top, then leaned down to look in the hole. It was wet and windy but we think Stephanie and any other S Club siblings may still be in the box as Sienna is still going in and out. Not quite ready to step forth. Not ready to take that big leap into the sea of red granite chippings. I chased off the clattering of jackdaws. No murder on our patch thank you. The murder though might be inside, over mini guttering for the summerhouse.
I spent most of yesterday (and today) trying to finish reading ‘Women, Girl, Other’. I was still only at 52% by lunchtime yesterday and Book Club was last night. Still if my glass was half full I might finish it by 7.30 p.m. in between nursing my hangover and tit watch. Then Best-Daughter-in-Law-to-be sends me a message asking, “What do you think to this hair piece for the wedding?” She didn’t actually add the ? I replied, “My eyes hurt. I can’t see.” Later I remember I haven’t checked Instagram for any updates from No. 1 Son. I am not his friend on Facebook. HIM not me. I can stalk him on Instagram though, like a Jackdaw stalking a tasty tit. All I see is black voids from No.1 Son, Best-Daughter-in-Law-to-be and Lewis Denny. My eyes are sure playing up today, I think. Perhaps I have no internet connection in the garden or it’s just the sun? That blinding sun that makes you type rubbish. BlackOut Tuesday apparently. I know it is Wednesday but this was yesterday. Too much happening to fit into one blog. I felt rough all day yesterday. Hungover and dehydrated. The birds were also making too much noise. Large groups of starlings chattering in the tree and much jumbled warbling. A cacophony of raspy screeching. Not good with a hangover from hell. I am clearly not used to all the noise and excitement of entertaining humans. The amount of wine that flowed was just a minor issue. I did not finish the book in time. Just too many pages and the author uses no punctuation. No full stops at all. Great storytelling but murder to read. Hope for me yet if a Booker Prize Winner can get away with wonky grammar. I was advised by one of the Guilden 10 to skip to the last chapter to get a feel for how the mini stories come together. I did just that, to tie up the loose ends of 12 different characters. Interwoven stories of identity, race, womanhood and the harsh realities of modern Britain. A book about being different, being black, chosen a month before the need for Blackout Tuesday and millions of black squares. Just a coincidence. I fancy a good murder mystery for July.
Today has been extremely cold and windy in contrast to the hot weekend. A day to make a slight dent in the ironing pile. Not a day for sitting in the garden sunbathing or on bird watch. I have though used my time wisely. Firstly I have sent in my photograph for the first Warkworth show ‘challenge’ event – wildlife in your garden and I have answered Facebook questions about, “Where did you get that lovely bird box?” The ceramic Casa de el azul la tota has proved very popular. Even my sister was impressed. Well, it has certainly served Sid and Sienna well. We can only hope though that the brood don’t get the virus. Not COVID19 but Suttonella Ornithocola. Nothing to do with a famous drink or Sutton-in-Ashfield. According to OneGreenPlant thousands of blue tits have been affected by a pneumonia-like virus. 13% of blue tit deaths in the UK can be attributed to this virus. How do they get those figures? Blue tit symptoms include loss of appetite, breathing problems and ungroomed pyjamas, sorry I mean feathers. How ironic that these plucky little birds have to run the gauntlet of a virus as well as the dangers posed by cats and other higher pecking order birds. I have also used my time today to set up my new wildlife trail camera. The box has a picture of Blackbuck Thomsons Gazelle on the front. I am hoping for proof of hedgehogs rather than African crested porcupine or the big grey cat that lives at the top of the garden, hopefully not mauling a baby tit. The instructions are complex so it could take sometime before I am able to share my successes (or failures). For now a few bird photographs will have to do. Stay safe everyone, thankfully it’s mid week and the weather can only get better.
The Daily JEF 