Hedge laying today, out in the cover crop. Or rather, hedge repairing. Stupid rabbits.
But it was actually very therapeutic work. Out in the first sunshine we’ve had in a while, no wind for a change. And hundreds of small brown splodges flying about all over the place.
Normally, I find these small brown splodges a little intimidating. When out on a blustery farmland bird count with bad light and faced with a whole heap of small black identical silhouettes, I pour curses onto the heads of these critters. ‘WHAT ARE YOU?! JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE!’ I shout. Which makes them all fly away and we have to start again.
But today, out in the sunshine, they were very forthcoming.
Once you get your eyes and ears in, and stop worrying about each one being an ID test, you can open up a whole world of subtle variations, striations, fluctuations and undulations. Like the line of Corn Buntings, twenty abreast, singing their scratchy tunes. Almost twice as fat sometimes as other buntings. Or the giant flock of 500 Linnets – a pinky brown fuzz from a distance, and there are definitely some Twite in with them for those who care to trawl. Skylarks, flying over thirty at a time, sounding something like a child coughing through a flute. And the Tree Sparrows incessantly yammering away. Nothing but gossip with those things. Not to mention their entourage of Greenfinches, Chaffinches, Reed Buntings, Starlings, Goldfinches and the occasional Meadow Pipit.
And then my favourites. Today there were well over 100 Yellowhammers lining, well, pretty much everything. Being totally yellow, I discount mature male Yellowhammers from my list of little brown birds. But the females and young males are about the smartest brown jobs out there. With the possible exception of the twenty odd Bramblings which have decided to pop in and visit. Again, a little tenuous, given that they are often more black and orange than brown. But it would be churlish not to give them a nod. And they are one of the better things about birdwatching in January.
‘Glory be to God for dappled things’ indeed. In fact, Manley Hopkins gives finches’ wings a nod in that poem (it’s called ‘Pied Beauty’ for those who care). Well, he needed something dappled that rhymed with ‘things’.