A haven of nature on half-an-acre

THRUSHES, blackbirds and small finches patrol the field beyond our garden from dawn to dusk.

They are sometimes joined by flocks of starlings, while magpies, wood-pigeons and grey crows are constant visitors. A pheasant struts purposely along the fringes now and then, rabbits abound during daylight hours and we occasionally see a fox — a fine fellow, with a very red coat and a bushy tail. He sometimes visits the yard at night and triggers the security light as he sniffs around the flowerpots or drinks from the pond.

The fact that the field has lain fallow for 60 years must be a contributing factor to the larder of insect and invertebrate life that it has become. From break of dawn to set of sun, there is never a moment when less than 50 birds are visible from our windows and all of them are feeding. They quarter the short grass in small hops, sometimes stopping to listen, sometimes fiercely stabbing the ground to snap up a victim. The surface must be crawling with life, an inexhaustible supply of nutrition. And it supplies grazing for three or four horses too.

Once or twice a year, we spot the stoat that lives across the garden stream, and sometimes we see a rural rat, but only in hard weather when we scatter food for the birds. We have had a woodcock come to visit the pond, and grey wagtails regularly forage along the edges. Now and then, we spot a tree-creeper clambering up the trunk of one of the nearby beech trees, its beak probing every fissure as it goes. A wren haunts the ivy, and scurries about the perimeter of the yard.

I have often detailed our bird-table visitors —the ‘exotics’, such as blackcaps, bramblings and siskins, and the troops of long-tailed tits that arrive and temporarily engulf the peanut feeders with their fluffy little bodies before flying onward to seek other fare. There are chaffinches, goldfinches, greenfinches, robins, tits, sparrows and dunnocks too.

A sparrowhawk is an occasional visitor. We have gulls high above, floating on outstretched wings. A heron passes in the evening going to roost. As the sky darkens, gangs of rooks begin their twilight ritual; they fill the sky in our view over the bay. Back and forth they fly, in great waves and squadrons, weaving and circling, creating an excited, almost celebratory, din.

I imagine I have forgotten some of our neighbour-creatures. I haven’t listed the moths, soon to come to the windows at night, or the many gorgeous butterflies that will sip nectar from the flowers in summer, or the countless species of bees, wasps, shield-bugs, froghoppers, slugs, millipedes, woodlice and other ‘creepy crawlies’ that spend their lives sharing our patch.

Ash trees, alders, live-oaks, hawthorn bushes and sloe-bearing blackthorns edge the field. In spring, the briars sprout new leaves, upon which ringlet and speckled wood butterflies bask in the sun. Japanese knotweed spreads further each year and ragwort multiplies but, still, there are early purple orchids galore, yellow bartsia and fleabane, meadow buttercups and primroses and even flag irises in one damp corner.

How different from the silage-grass prairies and vast cereal fields of the cultivated land. But we need these too: food for the body. Here —but we do not feel impoverished by it — we have only food for the soul.

It is astounding how much ‘nature’ is to be seen in our half-acre of Ireland and its adjoining old fields and woods. Few places on earth could compare for sheer diversity. No doubt, the same diversity will pertain in the home patches of many of my readers. We have such a treasure trove of natural phenomena to enjoy.

When you read this, I will be in La Gomera in the Canary Islands. February flowers will be spectacular, the sea warm and the food cheap, but, come April, our Irish world of brimming nature will beckon me home.

Recently, we discovered that blackbirds like Golden Wonder potatoes as much as they like ripe fruit. A local farmer kindly gave us half-a-hundredweight and if there’s a spud left after supper we put it out next morning for the birds. The blackbirds gobble the floury treat with gusto. Clearly, these blackbirds are 100% Irish. Those stalking the field are winter migrants, with different tastes.