18 months ago, I planted a tree in my garden.
It's had a tough time since. This most spindly of saplings has been bent double by autumn gales and prompted more than one bout of emergency midnight ‘staking’ in my dressing gown and slippers. But, against the odds, it has survived through the seasons - and grown slowly but surely taller.
Like any youngster, it is yet to ‘fill out’, but I’m hopeful that in the next 2-3 years, it will - and become just as impressive as the other rowans in my village. And, just as important, live up to its billing as a winner with wildlife.
Its lightweight body and branches have so far been unable to provide any support for birds, but the other day, it made me proud. Very proud. My rowan finally started to do its bit.
A tell tale wobbling of one of the lower branches caught my eye as I glanced out of the patio windows. It was a still morning, so there should have been nothing stirring. A flapping of wings, the adjustment of a feathered body and the sight I’d been waiting all those months for presented itself.
The berries that last year had fallen to the ground, untouched by bird or beast, were being rapidly consumed by a blackbird. A humble female blackbird. Ok, so it wasn't one of the many waxwings that have been 'invading' this winter, but I was pleased. Very pleased indeed!