Feathers are a marvellous thing. That's what struck me today when I was out walking at The Lodge, in search of our flock of Manx Loghtan sheep (they're the little ones with dead-bracken-coloured wool and up to six horns...).
I was busy not seeing the sheep, who were doubtless hiding in amongst the dead bracken, when I spotted a feather lying on the ground. I was pretty sure it was going to be from a woodpigeon (there are a lot around at the moment), but something prompted me to flip it over with my foot for a closer look.
All was revealed.
I'd stumbled across my holy grail!
When I saw the bright blue patch on one side, I gasped. I'd dreamed of finding one of these, a beautiful feather from a jay's wing. I remember a few years ago, when Mark showed me one he'd found, and feeling distinctly jealous.
Though I don't actively go looking for feathers, I most definitely keep an eye out for them on my travels. I like playing at being a nature detective.
Finding and identifying feathers means you gain a little insight into who's been there and what's been going on. A couple of weeks ago, I found a sad little pile of stripy, khaki-green feathers - some with bloodstaining - that showed a green woodpecker had been eaten, probably by a sparrowhawk. The bad news for the woodpecker meant good news for the hawk. That's how it goes...
I've seen plenty of jays at The Lodge, specially in the autumn months when they're busy flying around looking for acorns and places to stash them. Now, whenever I open the chest of drawers under my desk (where my feather 'collection' lurks), I'll be reminded of those charismatic, elusive birds. I wonder whether the jay that it belonged to is the one that's squawking outside my window now...?