RSPB’s Big Garden Birdwatch 2021
I've been participating in the RSPB's Big Garden Birdwatch for as long as I can remember — it’s a rather special date in my annual agenda. An excuse to put down all devices, work and chores to focus solely on birds, AND conducting citizen science? Count me in! In the spirit of the BGB 2021, I thought I'd recount some of my recent garden visitors, and some musings I've made.
For context, I live in South Somerset in a small cottage surrounded by grassy fields, left wild during winter. Half of our garden connects to the back field, and half is shrouded by a small patch of woodland. Between these two areas stands a small apple tree, which conveniently opposes the kitchen window. During my first week here I decked the tree with a fat ball feeder; a seed feeder; a peanut feeder; and a flat bird table on the fence post, which now cater to a variety of birds. At first we were only visited by blue tits and great tits, who were somewhat cautious at first. The territorial garden robin often dined at the flat bird table and on the scattered seeds below the tree, as did dunnocks and the occasional wren on milder mornings.
The variety increased a week or so into feeding the birds, which began in mid-November. I remember my rush of joy as I was out photographing the blue and great tits, and a teeny tiny coal tit fluttered into my view finder. My home in south-east Kent is situated in a suburban village minutes from the coast, with very little green spaces around the house and agricultural fields down the road. Here in Somerset, the fields are left alone through the cooler months, and the Stourhead National Trust land means that there are abundant patches of woodland. Where I'd only see coal tits when visiting Blean Woods near Canterbury or Stodmarsh on occasion, I now see them every hour, right outside my window. Likewise, I had only seen nuthatches in Kent at Blean Woods, and during my short visit to the New Forest in Autumn. Now, I have a resident pair of nuthatches constantly in the apple tree.
My excitement then peaked in late December. I had been hearing an odd call in the woodland outside, which I continually failed to identify — a kind of 'pi-chuu pi-chuu'. Then, one frosty morning I stood gazing absent-mindedly out of the kitchen window, probably thinking about the load of coursework I had left to the last minute, when my first ever marsh tit landed in my apple tree. My voice elevated 5 octaves as I ran to video call my dad and brag about the fact I had attracted a marsh tit to my feeder. There was no need for a morning coffee, the sight of the marsh tit had set me up with enough adrenaline to last the week.
Over the last couple of weeks I've seen a huge increase in the variety and number of birds in the garden, which I’m attributing to the cold snap and the increase in territorial activity I've seen around — I suppose it takes a lot of energy to duff-up the neighbouring robin or diffuse a pair of squabbling tits. Occasionally the garden falls relatively silent; the nuthatches disappear, the tits disband and the pheasants seek shelter elsewhere. In these moments, the air comically fills with the rapid chattering of long-tailed tits. Interestingly, I can identify the same flock of LTTs everyday by one notable individual.
A couple of weeks ago I was birding from the kitchen with my young cousin (who is really catching the bird bug!) and was talking to him about long-tailed tits. Later in the day he came to me and quizzed me on a bird he had seen, small, pink and in a flock of of long-tailed tits, which he was adamant was not a long-tailed tit. After some debating I went to see what the confusion was about, and funnily enough my cousin was right, it was not a long-tailed tit — it was a short-tailed long-tailed tit. The poor bird had had a tail trim and lacked its eponymous feature, hence my cousin's confusion. So now when I see the flock of tits, I look for the short-tailed long-tailed tit and know that they are my local flock.
Finally, my latest new arrival had me almost as excited as the marsh tit, losing out slightly by the fact that I've seen them many times before: the glorious greater-spotted woodpecker. Like the flock of tits, I am fairly certain that it is the same bird visiting everyday, because it is always a male and he always has his wits about him. Constantly checking behind his shoulder, I must stand dead-still in the kitchen otherwise I spook him. I was overjoyed to see this handsome bird in the garden, because I have never lived in the right habitat for garden peckers. I remember once, when I was about 11ish, my dad and I visited an old friend of my late nan out in the Kentish countryside. I distinctly remember standing in her kitchen with a biscuit and a cream soda, when a greater-spot swooped onto her feeder. It was one of my favourite bird watching moments.
While the majority of the tits, robins and nuthatches reside in the wooded area, I see the majority of my finches in the shrubs bordering the field. We have a local charm of goldfinches who often descend on the brambles and serenade the garden with their mellifluous song. Chaffinches often pepper themselves within the charm, and I am hoping to attract siskin and greenfinches throughout the spring. By far my favourite garden bird so far has to be the marvellous bullfinch. When I lived in Kent I could count my bullfinch encounters on one hand. Throughout Lockdown No. 1 I saw my first ever male bulfinch at Stodmarsh Nature Reserve. Living in Somerset, I am fortunate to at least hear our local flock on most days. I have another flat bird table resting on the entrance to the field, woven into a large bramble bush and a flanking of teasels. I scatter black sunflower seeds and niger seeds on the table in the hopes that I'll attract some finches — so far I've been unsuccessful, but I have high hopes for the breeding season.
I think my main realisation from this post is how garden birds can institute such a childlike excitement within all members of my household. There's something about adding a new bird to the garden ticklist and knowing I’ve attracted it with tempting morsels, to help it through the colder months. It's a very rewarding feeling, and on the darker days that knowledge instills a great deal of comfort within me. Furthermore, with the variety of birds we have now, there is also something of an artistic arrangement of colours, contrasts and sizing which is endlessly entertaining. The blue, greens and yellows of the blue and great tits; the stripe of the solo coal tit; the flashes of pale yellow and blues as the pair of nuthatches dip in and out of the flock of tits; the pinks and greys as the small long-tailed tits contrast the cool and natural tones; and of course, the bold black, white and red markings of the greater-spotted woodpecker.
Through writing this post, I've also realised what an emotional connection one can have to the common, everyday birds. Of course, I distinctly remember seeing my first and only purple heron at Dungeness in about '09. I can still feel my pulse quicken when recounting the story of seeing my first crane, whilst having soup at my local bird observatory. But seeing these common birds everyday still have connections and memories attached of them, and I find that in taking some mindful time everyday to watch my feeders with a cuppa, it feels as if I'm becoming acquainted with some old, occasionally overlook friends.
