The COVID-19 lockdown continues. Meanwhile in Wivenhoe….

A further compilation of tweets and reflections on a Spring that few of us expected to see in such local detail, highlighting our #NaturalHealthService.

May 1

May 2

Dawn Chorus today….

A damp and chilly start after an unexpected heavy shower, the light was just creeping into the eastern skies as we left the flat at 4AM. Across the river from the jetty, a Fingringhoe Nightingale was the only sound, until the Oystercatchers struck up. Like noisy teenagers, piping and peeping, hurtling up and down, chasing their carrots…

As we approached Ferry Marsh, the background ululation of Woodpigeons was punctuated by a Cuckoo, its vocal activity perhaps potentiated by its echo from Rowhedge: was it really duetting with its own reflection? And very soon, the reason for it being there became very obvious as the massed chorus of Reed Warblers (a favoured host) and Sedge Warblers swelled. Likely due to the lack of human intrusion and the spread of reeds with the flooding, there are more this year than ever before, a positive sign of recovery in dark times, for birds that need all the help they can get after a month-long marathon from sub-Saharan Africa. Responding likewise to the involuntarily raised water levels, a whinnying Dabchick would not be on territory here otherwise; and maybe three male Reed Buntings and a couple of loud and proud, angry and staccato Cetti’s Warblers punctuated the soundscape.

And there was little to intrude on the natural world. Just one plane and a distant rumbling vehicle – how we have become unaccustomed to such dissonance – but in reality the main intrusions where wholly natural: a distant braying donkey, a pair of honking Grey-lag Geese, and irregular loud splashing from shoals of spawning fish in the river.

The first liquid Robin song had coincided with the Cuckoo; by the time we reached Wivenhoe Wood, many more were mixed with the mellifluity of Blackbirds, trilling Wrens and see-sawing Great Tits. Gradually summer visitors imposed themselves on the woodland chorus, first Blackcaps, then a Garden Warbler, and finally Chiffchaff which heralded us home before sunrise. A truly symphonic hour.

May 4

May 6

May 7

May 8

May 10

May 11

May 12

May 13

May 14

May 15

Particularly sad this: ‘civic pride’ kills. Kills the flowers. Kills the insects that depend on those flowers. Kills the beauty that anyone with a heart and soul values. Kills civilisation. Kills the civility that civic pride should worship, instead of the sterile meaninglessness of an existence devoid of nature…

There are those out there for whom godliness (secular and nonsecular) is next to lifelessness; whose world is all hard edges, unsullied by the softening embrace of vegetation; who believe the world is out there to be subdued, and any suggestion of a mind of its own is to be ruthlessly squashed. Sad, really…

May 16

May 17