Yippee!! The sun is back. Everyone is smiling again. I was beginning to think we’d done something terribly wrong. It gently infuses a pale sky more reminiscent of the faded denim blues of summer than the sprightly indigos of the early months of the year. I’m late going out and meet an older couple spying out something in the trees close to the village. They’re not, as they say, from these parts, but it turns out that the man is uncle to one of my friends even if he lives down in deepest Suffolk.
They are looking for red kites and have spotted one in the trees. I’ve never seen one that close to the village before, but it is most distinctive, being bigger than a buzzard and much, much redder. Then there’s the classic wedge shape of its tail once it does launch itself into the air. Common in Scotland until about 1850, kites were then persecuted almost to extinction over the next century, mostly because of the perceived threat they posed to game birds bred on sporting estates. They were reintroduced a short distance away in the 1990s and are clearly thriving – I’ve seen up to seven at one time up on the hill.
Curiously, the first time I saw one wasn’t here, but in Beauly north of Inverness. I was there for a fiddle course and had gone out for a run one morning (much to the consternation of the lady who owned the Bed and Breakfast I was staying in as I was a few month’s pregnant at the time. I don’t really understand why pregnancy is equated with illness. To digress slightly, I went to get a prescription at the chemist very early on and informed him of my new state, as you’re supposed to. He asked me to sit down. But it’s absolutely tiny, just a few centimetres, I replied, bewildered). Anyway, I was trotting up a hill going out of Beauly and it swooped towards me. Even without my walking bird encyclopaedia (husband), I knew what it was and got very excited (I’m sure that’s supposed to be bad for you too). I confess I am more sanguine about seeing them now that they are a regular feature of our landscape, but they are gorgeous creatures. Mind you, seeing them being ‘buzzed’ by a couple of much smaller birds reminds me of Mr H retreating with his tail between his legs when the cat wants past.
The sun is warm and I am already regretting the full winter gear. It’s lovely to be out and I do feel I’ve earned it after the last five days of grot. I’ve read that they think that we Scots go down with more than our fair share of at least one serious illness – multiple sclerosis – because of the lack of vitamin D, the sun not being strong enough to send us any between October and March. But at least that keeps our skins young and unlined, or it would if we didn’t go rushing out for as many rays as possible, stripping off and turning into lobsters at the first touch of summer (no, it’s not pretty).
The hints of spring from a month ago (see Topsy-turvy world) were, entirely unsurprisingly, chased off by winter. But today spring has returned and with far less diffidence. The snowdrops drift profusely in gardens and woods and crocuses have now lifted their heads to join them. Even the daffodils, though still tightly sheathed, are brave enough to reveal a sliver of vivid yellow.
But it’s the birds who seem to feel it most. They’re always there, the little twitterers, along with the starlings with their funny exoticisms picked up and mimicked from goodness knows where, the cheerful robins and the dependable blackbirds. But the music from the bushes and trees seems even more joyful today. Mind you, I think I was getting a good old telling off from one great tit, who hopped from branch to branch above me letting out a piercing ‘cha-cha-cha’. But they aren’t nesting yet and certainly not guarding young. Maybe he just didn’t like the look of me, though I blame the dog.
Winter may well be back to bite. Last year we had snow in early April and the lambing was the worst the shepherd could remember. We have friends who lambed in February (which means they will weigh more when they come to be sold for meat even if they need more feed to get them through the first few months till the grass grows). They had to dig them out of snow drifts, losing both lambs and mothers. For all that many of these animals will end up on our plates, farmers feel the loss of every single one of them in their hearts and not just their wallets.
Meanwhile, us townies whisper quietly to ourselves, ‘Do you think it’s over?’ But we really should know better. Watch this space.
The Garden of Everyday Delight 