Country Sights and Sounds
John Shelley
I HAD planned to take the boat to where the swallows are gathering each night, to enjoy their evening flight and make an estimation of their numbers. I would need the anchor, for the wind was such that I would be forever rowing to simply stay in the one spot. The rope was hanging in the shed, but had unfortunately been welded to the rafter by a pair of swallows, who had used it as a support for their nest. As the nest was occupied it was out of the question to take the rope.
The phone rang. Was I busy?
An hour later we were walking through twilit woodland, not able to see the twigs that tugged at jumpers like so many bony fingers, nor the low growing brambles that wound silently about booted feet to snare and trip. We were looking for the deer again, this time at the behest of friends visiting from afar; townsfolk of whom we are immeasurably fond, but who have little in the way of woodcraft, and who have been strangely afflicted by the world of technology so that it permeates everything they say and do.
The busyness of urban life has also spawned in them an urgent demand for the stimulus of incessant chatter. Consequently, the only deer we saw were from afar. Firstly, a single doe that was grazing a field and a half away suddenly lifted her head at a chorused ‘Ooh! Look!‘ and went pronging into the distance, stiff-legged, white flashing tail aloft in the typical fallow deer alarm display. She skipped effortlessly over a fence of sheep netting and without looking back ran along a dirt track that led to an unlit farmstead as if farmers and dogs were preferable to the group of admiring tourists playing Red Indians amid the trees. The resident collie heard her and barked a clear warning. I thought she might come back into view, but, no, she slipped away down over the sheep field and into the darkness of the spruce wood beyond.
Half an hour and half a mile later two more does turned to watch us. They heard us at the same moment as we saw them, so the cause was immediately lost. For two minutes we settled to a mutual observation before the deer simply melted into the landscape, as if they had evaporated before our very eyes. I had given up on ‘hushing’ my guests at this point. Every animal in the woodland must have known we were there by now.
A lone, silver-coated badger, possibly geriatric and hard of hearing, stumbled out of the brambles where he had been rooting for worms, beetles and other such delicacies, and strolled onto the path just a few paces ahead of our group. It was unusual to see a badger out and about before nightfall, and we were able to watch it for a minute or more before it detected our presence. The animal stopped, as still as a rock, then gave a loud snuff of disgust and was away.
We finished our walk without further excitement. It had been a quiet enough trip. Normally I would expect to see so much more. But I don’t mind sitting quietly for an hour or more, and letting the animals come to me. I certainly think I have the richer life, though my friends view me as mildly eccentric. They find their comforts in the modern world, and who is to say whether they are right or wrong? A trip into the wild places gives them a break from their daily routine, as a trip into town does for me.
Back at home I went to check on the young swallows and found the nest inexplicably dislodged, the rope hanging slack. One fledgling swallow sat on the floor, looking rather bemused at its new location. The others were nowhere to be seen.
We placed the remaining youngster in a safe, elevated position. Two days later it was gone, hopefully to fly with the thousand or so others that are roosting in the reeds. They make quite a sight. In another two months there ought to be many thousands. I hope to meet them many times. I might go alone.
